HARQ: Vol 1
by TheH8fulM8s
Summary: Remnant's age of peace is ending. The Huntsmen are closing Academies. Violence rules the streets of Vale. Armies of Grimm are rising. As a new year of students arrives at Beacon Academy, these young huntsmen will enter an order ruled by ancient tradition in a time of radical change. They'll learn together what it takes to be guardians of a world that no longer wants them.
1. Prologue: A Midnight Visit

_Author's Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth._

_Special thanks to eliort on DeviantArt for their art contribution. Thanks to Hector for Editing._

_..._

Tin Steadfast woke in the middle of the night grasping at a twisting burn in his left leg. A second of blind groping reminded him that he had nothing there below his thigh. He sat up, hunched in the dark for a long minute, before feeling out the lamp on the bed stand next to him.

"Goddamnit!" He squeezed his eyes shut, used muscle memory to slide open a drawer, and pulled out a handheld mirror. He scooted to the edge of his bed and settled his right leg firmly on the shack floors.

"Blasted magic trick," he groaned, voice pitching as he leaned forward and strained his back, "more trouble than it's worth."

He passed the mirror slowly up and down his right leg, beyond where his left should've been. Slowly, the pain began to recede as some detached part of his brain imagined his body whole again. Tin sighed and smiled.

"Well," he muttered, "maybe just worth it." He flicked off the lamp and laid back in bed, listening to the night bugs in the desert valley outside. On the edge of sleep, he noticed light seeping in from under his bedroom door. Someone was downstairs.

Hunter instincts took over. He shot up and faced the door, one hand slipping behind his headboard to grasp the handle of a trusted revolver. He'd become duller than he'd thought if someone could waltz into his house without waking him.

He thumbed back on the hammer and let out his best threat.

"Whoever's playing games out there," he growled, his throat skinned by years worth of tobacco, "you get out of my house or I shoot!"

There was utter silence from beyond the door. He considered options. Maybe he'd fire the gun out his window and put some real terror in the intruder.

"I heard you come in, you dumbass, and I gave you ten minutes to scurry off, but now your times up!" Another long silence followed.

"No you didn't," a familiar voice called out, "I've been here an hour already, Huntmaster." Tin slid the hammer back into place and returned his gun back to its holster. He sat in bed for a moment, seething, before he hurled his pillow at the door. He went for the aluminum crutches in their resting spot on his right side. His fingers knocked them to the floor.

"Buzzard's guts!" He leaned, too far, and tumbled out of bed. His aura flared around him in a smokey-silver wave of color that spared him any injury.

"I'm fine," he shouted to his unwelcome guest, "don't help me!"

"I wasn't going to," she said. Tin righted himself after a minute of struggle and slid his wrists into place. He swung himself to the door and put on his ugliest scowl before opening it.

"Raven," he grumbled, taking in the sight of a lone Huntress at his one-person table. She was still dressed in her field gear, sans the menacing white helmet, and was seated in one of two plastic rolling chairs at his table. One was serving as a footrest for her right foot. Tin glared at an empty Ming's Pale Ale bottle on the table and another slowly emptying in her hand.

"Oh, by all means," he groaned, moving slowly into the large single room outside his bedroom. It was his kitchen, lounge, and main entryway all at once. "Make yourself right at home. Have a drink."

"I did," she said, gesturing to the ales, "your supply is due for restock. Stuff tastes like bottled bread."

"What are you doing here?" He held back a groan when he saw her a twinkle in her eyes, like a pair of garnets.

"Hmm.. Maybe I'm the Summer Maiden," she said playfully, " come to tell you I'm looking for my sisters and wanted to stop in at your hut."

"Cut the crap! It's goddamn three in the goddamn morning!" His voice thundered throughout the shack. Raven winced and made a show of cleaning out one ear.

"I'm only here because Vulp Derryo said you wanted to see me when I got back to the Den."

"And did they say I was answering midnight visitors as well, Hunter Branwen?" The women gave a shrug and took another sip of his beer. He went to the fridge and rummaged around for a Ming's of his own, swearing again when he knocked a bottle to the kitchen floor.

"Don't help me!"

"Don't worry, I won't," Raven said, watching him over her shoulder, past her long black locks.

"Damnation."

"Such language, Tin, what would your mentor say if she caught you swearing like a soldier?" Tin used the counter to lever himself back up, drink in hand, and then used it again to crack off the cap. After a draw, he answered.

"She'd say nothing if I remember old Bo Brindle right. She'd give me a few knocks on the head for it and leave it at that. A sort of teaching that's woefully out of style nowadays." Raven drowned a snort of laughter in another sip of ale.

"Like you'd hit a child, Tin Steadfast," she said, "the moon would reform first."

"You're not a child, Raven," he said.

"Compared to you, old man, everyone is a still a child," she said, smiling when Tin couldn't keep a straight face.

"Alright, kid, you win," he said, "no more banter or wordplay. Really, you've one-upped me…this time. Now, I did want to see you when you got in, though I figured we'd meet when the sun was in the sky."

"Well it's morning in Atlas about now," she said, smirking around the bottle. "That good enough?"

"All right, enough with that!" Tin held up his hand and calmed himself. He went to his chair, shaking it until Raven moved her foot.

"I'm on vacation for the week," he said, "Vulp gets all clenched up if I'm still hanging around before initiation results come in…"

"Well, you do get antsy about all the little Huntlings we manage to net. I'll grant Vulp that much." Tin's face scrunched up.

"I _know,_" he began again with some effort, "which is why I take the vacation and use it to think about the big 'five-year plan' announcements and such. The other day I came to a few hard conclusions, and…"

"And one of the schools has to close." Tin's fist slammed onto the table. Raven's empty bottle jolted and rolled over the edge. She snatched it out of the air in a deft motion.

"Would you stop doing that? Yes! Yes! One of the schools needs to close and I wasn't lucky enough to **die **before it happened! So now…now I gotta make a choice. And I haven't even begun to come up with which one or why, but I wanted to ask you when you got back. I wanted to get your read on…"

"Beacon." Tin turned red and his whole body shook with anger, but a second later he deflated and slumped into his chair.

"That wasn't even my question. But… Beacon? Your old school? Raven, I know better than anyone the crap you were going through there, but why Beacon?" Raven rolled her eyes at the hurt in the old man's voice.

"Four Hunters, trained as a team, are not necessarily better than one. That's all Beacon claims to have on anyone else."

"Crap," Tin said. He looked at her with mild disappointment. "Crap and you know it. Don't feed me that old line. I've got a great example of a Beacon grad who works _better _than most other school's. She broke into my house and stole two of my beers. And didn't bother wiping off her grimy boots before marching around my kitchen, by the way! All in the middle of the night, too." Raven kept a cool face.

"I'm good, Tin, I know that. But I work best alone, and my team…well, think about my team for a moment." She watched him twist and squirm on his own hook for a few seconds before he nodded.

"Alright, but…but that was a special case. And there are other people who do just fine going solo. And when a Beacon team gets back together to tackle something, you can count the day saved." Raven shrugged and finished her drink.

"Second choice," Tin said at once, "pretend Beacon's off the table." The Huntress made a face as she started her second ale.

"Spotlight then," she said.

"Aw, Raven," Tin groaned, "you're killing me with this! Not Spotlight! That school always gets the bad word from people who didn't go there. Some of the best Hunters of our order came from that school, but it's always the unwanted stepchild of every conversation. You know, Bard Avon's doing things with dust at that school that would make your head spin, Raven Branwen, and…" Tin trailed off at the flat look Raven was giving him. He scratched his wrinkled chin.

"Bard has taken way too many liberties with the 'art-school weapons development' stuff for my tastes, Tin. He should be training Hunters, first and foremost, and I don't trust him to roll the rest back. A school like that needs to justify itself in the best of times, so why keep it open in the worst? It'll make any other choice seem inane by comparison. Form follows function, Tin."

"One more, please, I'm begging you, Raven, give me any other school assuming…"

"Signal," she said, her voice carrying a sharp edge. She was getting visibly exhausted with this game. Tin pulled a few faces like he was constipated and Raven stopped holding back.

"What, Tin? What now?! Just say it!"

"James has worked hard," he roared, "he has done his best to keep a solid number of graduates each year. Some go to the military, I know, that was the devil's bargain we had to make, but…"

"Some? It was one in thirty back at the start, Tin, and how many is it now?" Raven leaned forward like a vulture over a dying man.

"Maybe three in thirty." Tin scratched his chin once more, looking away.

"That's one in ten, Tin, and it **will** get worse. Give Signal up, like you should have done back when we made a 'devil's bargain', and move on. It does produce good hunters, but it doesn't produce only Hunters. It's a gangrenous limb. Cut it off, or give it the care it needs. And don't ask me for another recommendation."

"I'm sorry," Tin begged. He looked over his shoulder into a small den with a moth-eaten rug between an easy-chair and an out of date television. Above them was a wall of pictures. The whole side of the house was taken up by photographs from 73 years of Tin Steadfast's life.

There was the black-and-white photo of his Grandpappy holding him when Tin was three. Not far from that one he stood next to a smiling graduate, little blonde-haired Hunig Geat, who today was Headmaster of Haven Academy. A recent digital photo displayed, in startling colors, a hike he'd taken with Vulp Derryo to the top of Mount Geb on the Valley's northern edge when the sky was deep blue and the noon sun made the valley glow. In a place of honor, by the front door to be seen first coming in and last leaving was a wedding photo of a pink-haired woman and one-legged man that always made Tin touch his ring-finger.

At the heart of all those moments was a photo of a Faunus woman and man with the ears of wolves. They had their arms around a young man with jet black hair and two working legs. It was the last photo the Brindle Siblings took together. The dates were always fuzzy for Tin now, but he remembered that exactly five months after that picture the Hunter Schism would begin.

"Huntmaster? Grumpy old Wizard? Tin!" Raven stood and yelled at him at last.

"What? What?" Tin blinked at her frantically for a moment, remembering where he was.

"You got lost in the old days, looks like," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Get off my back, Raven, I'm old. I've got more past than future at this point," he mumbled.

"So what's your plan, Tin?" she asked as she took back her seat. The old Hunter stared at his calloused hands and gave a tired shrug.

"Maybe it's time I step down," he said, heaving a big sigh, "finally let someone else take over. Somebody who can make these tough choices."

"Tin Steadfast, I'll kill you if you ask me to take over the Hunters." At that, Tin burst into laughter so raucous that Raven began to take offense.

"Sorry, it's just…Elder Brother be good," he said with a chuckle, "the pushback I'd get for that is almost worse than closing a school." Raven, surprised at how sour that made her feel, grunted in response. Tin caught her mood as his laughter subsided.

"Hey," Tin boomed as he pointed a finger at her firmly, "you nevermind them, Raven Branwen. You're damn good at killing Grimm, and you mostly make good decisions. That's all any Hunter can be asked to do. You've got a good head on your shoulders. You must, you're so damn headstrong all the time."

"I thought we were through with wordplay?" Raven's frown remained but there was a touch of mischief in her voice once again.

"I'm the Huntmaster," Tin said, winking, "I get to break my own rules." That brought a little smile to her sharp features.

"We really are kids to you, aren't we, Tin? Still trying to keep us from talking bad about each other and getting caught up in little fights. Talking to us like we're in the principal's office. A principal's office with beer."

"Everyone's still the kid they used to be deep down," Tin said, "Bo told me that once. You remind me of her sometimes." Raven smiled and shook her head as she heard the comparison made for the hundredth time.

"Did Bo Brindle really talk in all these platitudes, Tin? Or is she how you test your new ideas for quotes?" Tin drew himself up proudly and crossed his arms. His beer was finished and he had a healthy glow in his cheeks.

"She was the wisest woman I ever knew, Raven, and…"

"She wanted you to lead after her," Raven said, "so no more talk about quitting. What'll you do about the schools?" Tin sighed heavily but remained rigid in his chair.

"One must close so the others live. At least for another few years, based on Derryo's projections. They're rarely off the mark on these things. But the question I had for you was regarding one-on-one mentorship. The 'old way'. You've got the most experience of it." Tin paused and looked at Raven askance.

"Where is your apprentice? Resting?" Raven waved her hand at him like he was a great big gnat.

"Oh, Tin, my apprentice isn't being kept up by anything. Sleeping like a baby at the Lodge, I insisted on it. We leave first thing in the morning, the two of us." She narrowed her eyes at him when his face took on a sad, disappointed caste.

"In and out in the span of a night, hmm? Like some kid tagging a cop-car? You should at least wash your clothes before you head out, Raven." The Huntress' face reminded him vaguely of the professors he'd ride with backtalk at Starlight. What should have been a lifetime ago. There was a silence for a while before Tin made a gamble and said what he'd been holding back.

"You should visit Qrow." Raven's face turned blank from surprise. "Y'know, he wouldn't say it, but it hurts him when you pretend he doesn't exist." Raven leaped from her chair without a word and marched for the front door.

"Raven?" he called after her. No answer. "Lets not… Can we….? Stop acting like a damn teenager, you fool!" He rose from his chair and felt his crutch get tangled in his legs. A second later he was sprawled across the floor, cheek pressing into the cool tiles of the kitchen floor, no Aura catching him this time.

She darted over to where he lay. He snarled at her as she reached for his shoulders, face contorted in fury.

"Goddamnit, don't help me!" She backed up and watched him struggle to his feet, disheveled but unharmed. He set one hand on the table and slid the other into a crutch.

"He's your family, Raven," Tin went on, "and considering nobody knows where on Remnant your daughter-"

"Don't!" Raven roared.

Tin's mouth twisted back and forth, annoyed one moment and concerned the next. It was beginning to burn her up, seeing the worry in his eyes.

"Alright," he said, "alright, Raven, fine. So the 'old way'. Some kids are going to be left floating in the wind by this, no two ways about it, and I'm trying to find a way to mitigate the impact. Maybe a few juniors spend their last year with senior Hunters and learn the tricks of the trade straight on."

"My apprentice is gifted, and a special case," Raven said, her voice was clipped and she made no move to settle into a seat, "and therefore a poor comparison."

"Right, fine," Tin nodded rapidly, trying to finish his thought, "but if we had to do it for a whole class, could it work?" Raven took a long minute to mull over the thought.

"Potentially, I think it could work for a junior class. But some of the students will have to repeat years at a new school." Tin grimaced at her answer.

"There'll be a hiccup in the graduation rates for a year, then." He rubbed his knee on the spot that hit the floor, cradling a shallow bruise.

"That's the toll we pay to cross this river. They'll have an extra year of training. Maybe look at it that way if it helps. Either way, just do it."

"Thank you," he finally said, "and now I'd ask you to keep this whole thing quiet as a dead man's laugh. I know I can trust you, but I'm being extra cautious. The rumor mill is already ahead of me. They might be grinding out word of a closing, but by the Elder Brother and the Younger Brother, I will **not **let this get far. I'll tell the Heads when I feel like the time is right, and not a moment before."

"They'll still start jockeying," Raven said.

"I'll travel the world and thump each of them on their heads if that happens, but until then, 'sinking ships loosen lips' or whatever that phrase was."

Raven glared. Tin simply stared at the picture of himself and the Brindle Siblings at the center of his wall, lost in thought.

"Anything else?"

"Qrow made a full year sober three weeks ago," Tin said, a smile touching his lips, "first full year clean since…well, you asked me not to bring her up…but since that particular parting when he fell off the wagon." Raven held back another urge to bolt.

"A year," she said, "that must have been hard." Raven's face softened a little.

"Gardening keeps him occupied I think," Tin replied, "and he's strong. Strong like his sister." Raven turned on her heel and walked to the door.

"Hang on now," Tin barked, hobbling after her.

"What, Tin?" She turned to find his right hand extended toward her. An old farewell gesture. She spotted his tattoo of Starlight's symbol, a bow about to lose a shooting star like an arrow, etched in his muscular forearm.

"Goodbye, Raven Branwen, and be safe until we meet again," he said. She hesitated a moment, then took hold of his forearm in a sturdy grip.

"Until we meet again, Tin Steadfast," she began, "and remember, don't let sentiment cloud your judgment. What must be done, must be done."

"I'll try. Even if it kills me, I'll try," he paused, then gave her a grin, "now, young lady, you best get back to class. And remember... Principal Steadfast's door is always open."

As she went out his door and slowly through the dark, desert valley of the Hunters Den, she glanced back at the little hut. The shack was surrounded by the shadowed mountain range, the sky slowly turning to navy blue, and the twinkling yellow glow of lightning bugs. His vacation hut was not so much a home as it was a roof and a bed tucked into a vast landscape he could lose himself inside.

She drew in the smell of the valley's wild sage wet with morning dew as she sighed heavily, then silently cursed herself. There was no good reason to have woke him at such an unreasonable hour. To her relief, she saw the light go out in his kitchen window and, a moment later, his bedroom.

_Get some sleep, old man. Kids or grown-ups, we all need you a bit longer. _

She turned towards the lodge, a mighty silhouette of a complex at the far end of the valley, and began the march toward her own bed.

_..._

_Editor Note:_

_A__ll forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!_


	2. Chance Encounters

**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth.**

**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing.**

xxx

Azeban Quinn had been captivated by the city when she finally arrived. Her airship had spent hours crossing the Slender Sea, which had been so still and expressionless that watching it was almost hypnotizing. Stormsurge Port was a needed, fascinating change of pace. At least, what brief glimpses she'd seen of it was.

She'd pushed against her escort Mochilla while trying to see every monument and towering building between their airship's landing zone and Glaucous Transportation Station. Her escort was a patient woman, but they were going to be late.

The Station's insides were nothing less to behold. Her mouth hung open at the sight of the giant floor-to-ceiling clock that dominated the north wall of the sprawling station. There were various bas-reliefs surrounding it, showing depictions of armored horseman lead by men or women who bore the twin-axes that symbolized the Vale Kingdom.

"Hey, who are they supposed to be? Valish heroes?" she asked with a pointed finger. Mochilla looked to the wall, unblinking. This was all as familiar to her as her own bed, it seemed.

"Generals. Which is near the same thing to the Valish. They love their military here, that's for sure." Mochilla didn't commonly speak poorly of people, but there was a little venom in how she said 'love.'

"Do you recognize anyone?" It was a shot in the dark to ask, but a shot that partially landed. Mochilla pointed at a woman flanking the clock's right side.

"That Misses right there is one of the Cranes. But that's all I got for you." Azeban glanced back at her escort, who was checking her scroll for the next train's departure gate.

"The Cranes? Is that a family?" Mochilla glanced up at her, giving a quiet sigh. She wouldn't take it personally if they were late at this point, but she'd feel bad for the youngin'.

"Cranes are old blood around here. They were the big movers and shakers in Vale's army for ages. Since before this city was built, I'd guess. Well, they were and are, I suppose."

"They're still around?" Azeban reacted like Mochilla had said someone just found proof that people lived on the moon. No one in the High Crimson Federation could claim their pedigree was so old or storied.

"I think. Kid, I pick most of this stuff up from historical plaques. Vale's got a general right now that's supposed to be a Crane. A big bug from the war. Don't ask me his name, though, I only see him when he's on the news." Azeban quirked an ear.

"Why is Vale's general on the news? I thought the war was over," she asked carefully, dreading an answer that might surprise her. Mochilla grimaced before delicately choosing her words.

"It's... not for everyone, sweetheart. Someone's always talking about the war, especially in Vale. 'Who did what, was that a crime, how many actually died.' It all gets argued back and forth. Things like that take a while before they go away. And, well, sometimes they never go away." Azeban looked back to the clock again, eyeing over the figures with a slight bit of wariness this time.

"Alright, enough about politics. I'm not the kind of person to talk to about all this. Deliveries are my concern. And speaking of which..." Mochilla grabbed Azeban hard by the collar and pulled her along like a suitcase. The young lady's marveling at craftsmanship and history had stopped her from hearing the loudspeakers announce her train's arrival.

xxx

Mochilla watched from Platform 8 as Azeban climbed aboard and settled in, unable to follow any further. She would stay in Stormsurge for another day to see some buisness done before flying back across the sea. Azeban had wondered much about Mochilla since her father had introduced them; what exactly Mochilla traded in, or what kind of favor she owed her father. When they had hurridly said 'goodbye,' Azeban had hugged her in a flash, unsure of how else to say thanks, and then dashed into the crowd of economy passengers before things became awkward. The woman wore a bemused smile as she watched her go.

The train pulled out into a concrete tunnel where nothing was visible but bright orange lights rushing by, then past a powerful steel gate that roared as it drew open, releasing the train into the world outside Stormsurge's walls. The brand-new country outside her window had temporarily kept Azeban from noticing how uncomfortable her seat was, but it wasn't so much as an hour before they'd passed beyond the walls of Stormsurge and any signs of civilization were left behind.

What took its place was long stretches of sickly-pale coastline and the dour, dark blue waters of the Middle Ocean. Never had Azeban believed a beach could look so miserable, but here one was, color-faded as a dead fish's eye. Even the sky had fallen into a bad mood as it turned a deep gray.

It stayed this way for most of the afternoon, halting any chance she'd get to see her first Valish sunset. Eventually, the coastline began to vanish from sight as the train ascended to the high plateaus of the Salt Cliffs. It had been strange for her to see land sheer into the sea as if the Elder Brother had simply broken off a giant piece of countryside, but that lost its novelty after hour three.

Everything inside the train car could barely hold her interest without annoying her. Emerald carpets, now faded to a modest mint, struggled to muffle the whine of age-warped floorboards. The seats were real genuine walnut, and they left a genuine numbness in her legs. There was no space for her tail to sit comfortably so she was forced to strain her back by slouching forward. Her window panes, ornate around the edges, let in just enough of the cold to make her uncomfortable.

It all felt like it was nagging her to stay awake. She was full to the brim with energy, having spent most of the day seated, and sleeping without laying down was a skill she hadn't mastered yet. Most of her fellow riders had fallen asleep sometime after the old electric bulbs snapped off around 10 pm, save of course for an older gentleman seated next to her, who had manually flicked their isle's light back on by a little switch atop the fixture.

The man's wife rested her head on his shoulder as he read a book that looked thicker than Azeban's fist. She'd thought to ask him what it was about, but when offered him a little "Hi," the man darted his eyes to her, blinked once, then returned to his book.

Right. Time to get up and stretch.

She slipped past the couple and snuck towards the front of the train, then slid open the door at the end of her car. A sudden flood of noise filled her ears, the raccoon appendages pressed flat against her scalp. The rain outside rattled on the cars around her and the rolling metallic sound of the racing train was deafening.

She quickly pulled the door shut behind her and winced at the loud snap it made. The wind pulled at her shawl and raindrops hit her face like icy darts as she pulled the next car's door open. She peered around the dark carriage and found two-dozen people in uniform, all asleep in their seats like everyone in her car.

The colors of their fatigues might've been deep blue or green, she wasn't sure, but the patches on their shoulders marked them as Valish military. Her heartbeat quickened and she recalled her family warning about the humans of Vale. Azeban held her breath for a moment as she waited to see if anyone would wake up and turn hostile.

The sleepers dozed onward and she found that, after a moment of observation, they looked rather funny. They slept shoulder-to-shoulder, men and women alike, some with their heads slouched forward and others with their mouths hanging open. They snored almost in unison, in a rhythm that made her think of a marching cadence. Left, left, left, right, left.

She padded down the aisle, careful not to swat anyone with her tail. With an impish smile and a playful salute at the slumbering soldiers, she braved the crossing from one car to the next again. She worked extra hard to not let the door slam shut this time, which came at the cost of her hair and shawl getting soaked by the storm.

The next car was empty of any passengers, which puzzled her until a lengthy flash of lightning revealed the room as a dining car. She gasped at the momentary beauty of it. The lightning caught two crystal chandeliers that hung like inverted wedding cakes above round table-tops of smoky glass. Behind a gilded countertop, shelves of bottled spirits played with the strobes of light from outside. The lightning finally ended, plunging everything back into darkness for a pause before a terrible crash of thunder cackled above.

Azeban crept to the windows and settled on the comfortable upholstery with every intention to stay. Once she was tired enough to sleep, she bargained, she would creep back to her seat and all would be fine, but for now, this would be her own little mansion on wheels. The train car she now sat it was finer than any mobile home in all of High Crimson. Far away in the Mistralese forests was a place of ancient trees that dominated the earth for thousands of miles around the edge of Mistral's Great Miso Lake. She had lived with her family in cars never larger than this one, but never had it felt cramped to her. It was a beautiful place, untamed by Mistral Kingdom, where her people lived hard but free. The simple thought of the place made her feel pride well up in her chest.

Then again, civilization had its charms. She began to fantasize of what tomorrow would bring. According to her brother, Vale was a land of old castles built for powerful monarchs and sleek towers for modern business. Travel guides he'd offered her described tours through King Simon's palace, farm-fresh marketplaces, a 'world-renowned nightlife,' and an amusement park down by the navy yard. She wondered how much of it she could see within the confines of a single weekend.

Don't get foolish ideas, girl. You are here on our behalf, not on vacation! The intruding thought spoke with the voice of her Grandmother. Azeban's smile faded as she recalled her final discussion with her Grandmother. It had turned into a blow-out argument, unsurprisingly.

"Beacon is useful as a final test of your abilities, but very little else. You'll rise to their challenge, spend every spare moment training, and come home better than you left. After that, there will be nothing they can teach you that I can't."

Sequoia Quinn had been impossible about her attending Beacon since the beginning.

Azeban remembered the toiling she'd gone through to convince her Grandmother to let her stay for longer at Beacon. It had all been for nothing in the end. She'd gone right back to only one school year. No academy had pedigree good enough for that woman. "Try not to let whatever team they saddle you with distract you. I expect much of you when you come back next summer."

She reclined back into her seat, arms folded, as the patter of rain streaking across her window began to settle down. Vale would be her first trip out of Mistral kingdom, and in all likelihood, it would also be her last.

Her first time stepping foot outside High Crimson had been a day trip to Mistral with her brother, the place gilded with beautiful marble statues at every corner, mosaic tiles paving the sidewalks and low-flying airships more plentiful than ordinary cars. That night had been filled with an endless lecture on 'the dangers of being out alone in the capital.'

And it only gets worse after Beacon, she thought. Fair to bet you'll never see anything besides the forest once you're done school. As the rain slowed to a faint drizzle, she leaned forward, cheek almost pressing against the window to see if she could glimpse Vale City ahead of their train. Although no buildings could be seen through the late night and the rain, the faintest twinkle of distant lights on the horizon caught her eye and made her smile. Well, I'll see it all while I can. It's only fair. What Grandmother doesn't know can never hurt her.

The train car lit up once more, but this time the light was artificial, steady, and harsh. Azeban squeezed her eyes shut and gave herself away with a pained grunt. Someone rushed towards her from the side of the train that faced the engine. As she covered her eyes, a voice snapped at her that seemed louder than the thunder outside.

"What are you doing here?" The man who was speaking clearly did not care to wait or apologize.

"Nothing," she said, "I wasn't doing anything." She tried to keep her voice from showing her annoyance. She took her hands away from her face and blinked at a few stubborn spots. A man with a comb-over and a pencil-thin mustache was giving her a perturbed sneer. He wore the type of neat red vest she'd seen other attendants wearing earlier.

"You shouldn't be here, the dining car isn't open," the man snapped again, "and lone children aren't allowed in here even when it is. Where are your parents?" She fixed her eyes on the man's face,

"I'm traveling alone," she said, a drop of venom entering her voice, "and I'm seventeen." She realized that her case wasn't helped by the fact that she was kneeling on a booth like a little kid.

"Where's your ticket? Let me see your ticket," he pushed his hand into Azeban's face and held it there. She felt like a dog with a shoe facing its frustrated owner. Azeban glanced at the man's nametag.

"Ok, Francis," she said, patting down her pockets. She produced a large ticket that was snatched from her hand without hesitation. As the attendant squinted at the writing, Azeban took in the room. In the light, she found it not nearly as beautiful as it had been glimpsed in the dark. The white marble countertop looked ridiculously out of place amidst the wood and the green curtains were threaded with gaudy gold patterns.

"So," Francis sighed, "I see you're set up in a commercial class seat? You're quite lost, aren't you? See this little 'C' on the corner of the ticket?" He turned it back to her and tapped the spot. Azeban reached out to take it back and bit her tongue when the man refused to hand it over.

"Yes," she managed to growl, "I see it."

"There's nothing here that gives you a reason to be in the dining car. Now, you'll come along with me back to your seat. But first, I'm marking your ticket." He produced a permanent marker, made two practiced marks on her ticket, then tossed it onto the table for her to pick up. It now had a black "D" on it that she imagined meant something to someone on this train. He watched her, foot tapping, standing with his arms crossed. Azeban shoved it into her pocket and slid out into the aisle. As she moved, Francis hovered at her back and practically marched her the way she'd come.

He jostled her tail, possibly on accident or to further annoy her. If that little pass at her had been on its own, she would've thought a nasty thought and left him alone. As a cherry on top, Azeban realized that she couldn't stomach any of this a moment longer.

You asked for a little Faunus brat, Francis? Well, you got a Quinn. She smirked as she eyed a light switch right next to the exit. It must've had a twin that Francis flicked when he first entered the dining car. Azeban played the cowed little girl until her hand touched the door handle. She glanced over her shoulder and gave Francis a grin.

"What?" the man asked a split-second before Azeban snatched the head his flashlight and twisted it out of his grip with a flick of the wrist. Before he had time to bark at her, she'd used her free hand to snap the nearby light switch and plunged the car back into perfect darkness. She threw open the door, pressed up against the wall, and sidled past Francis as he sputtered in the darkness. Her little trick worked and he, assuming she'd bolted back into the soldiers' car, ran right out into the rain.

She disposed of his flashlight as if it disgusted her, then stopped to watch the fruit of her efforts. The soldiers' car fills with yellow light and confused shouting. Francis getting a harangue from two-dozen cranky warriors made her smile devilishly. She moved quickly towards the front of the train and found an enclosed threshold between the dining car and the next carriage. The door made the most polite little click as it shut behind her.

This is why I didn't hear him. As the rush of petty vengeance melted away, she realized her new predicament. She'd sealed herself off from the far side of the train car and certainly made a nemesis of that man for the rest of her ride. The idea of playing cat and mouse all night with him did not appeal to her.

The next carriage was even nicer than the dining car. It made the commercial class look like storage with folding chairs bolted to the floor. Glass doors with brass handles separated the corridor from the passengers; soft red curtains gave each compartment a further sense of privacy. She tried a few doorknobs and found them locked.

At the far end of the carriage, she saw a fraction of light on the plush carpet that covered the aisle. She weighed her few remaining options. The curtains were drawn but the soft light from behind them clearly meant someone was up. Light filled the window to the dining car, making her head turn. It was time to act or get caught.

Maybe, she thought, the person in this cabin can't be worse than Francis. With that hope, she opened the door and stepped inside bold-as-you-please. She backed away to the far end of the door's blind-spot and found herself pressed right up against the window. She spared a glance at the occupant.

He was her age, she guessed, and had a look of reasonable confusion on his face. Close-cut chocolate colored hair and the near uniform gray color of his clothes made her grimace. He looked like a soldier or a cadet of some kind. His eyes were a gray that bordered on black, like a thunderhead, and the steep-arched eyebrows he had gave his face a stern expression.

Her eyes flickered down a sword laid across his lap. It was sheathed in a red saber and the young man had been in the process of winding some kind of feathered tassel around the end.

"Sorry, sorry!" she said, smiling nervously, "I…" three sharp raps on the door cut her off. The boy rose and his face set into a more composed, suspicious squint. Azeban shook her head once but couldn't read what he was deciding. Another fierce knock on the glass drew him to answer. Her heart rose up hopefully when the boy opened the door enough to glance out but not for the attendant to see in.

"What?" his tone was clipped, and his voice had a slight accent to it that she'd never heard before.

"Oh," Francis stammered, "a hundred apologies, sir," his courteous voice wavered as he continued, "but did you see a Faunus come through here? A short girl?" Azeban watched the boy carefully, holding her breath. The boy's eyes had started to narrow at Francis, perhaps at how the man had said 'Faunus.' He didn't hesitate to answer.

"I haven't. Why do you ask, is something the matter?"

"She's...," Francis confidence began but tapered off.

"She's not... in the right train car," he mumbled.

"Well," the boy said, unimpressed, "I hope she finds her way back then. Goodnight." He shut the door, clicked the lock into place, and took his seat. Azeban's right ear swiveled as Francis went to the next cabin and tried again. This time an old lady's voice clearly gave him a few words she'd wanted to say, plus a few more than what was necessary.

"Right on, stranger," Azeban said, talking quietly after Francis had stalked away, "you're a real ace for helping me. Sorry I roped you into things." She leaned forward on the edge of her seat and extended one hand. The young man mirrored her and seemed perplexed when she grasped him by the forearm.

"Hessian," he said, his voice was softer now and sounded a little shy, "are you alright? Why was that man bothering you?"

"Azeban," she introduced herself, "and, well.. We were bothering each other, let's just say. He was being rude and pushy, I was stubborn and faster than him. A lot happened." She leaned back into her seat and note for the first time how damn comfortable it was. No bare wood for this carriage. It was soft as a sofa and large enough for her to splay out on. "Again, sorry to bring you in on it."

"No trouble," Hessian said, trying a smile of his own, "but what will you do now? He'll keep looking." Azeban shrugged.

"Honestly, If I'd thought that far ahead I wouldn't be here. But you seem nice enough, so we're all fine." Azeban leaned closer to the window and searched for movement. "Though you've got a point, Hessian, I'm in a corner now. I guess I'll wait him out and try to sneak back to my seat." Hessian chuckled.

"His casus belli isn't very good, is it? 'She wasn't in her seat.'" Azeban was delighted to hear this.

"Right! This guy was a joke. Listen, I get that it's his job and all, but he..." Hessian put his finger to his lips as a pair of boots marched down the hallway past them again. Francis was ever dutiful, it seemed. Hessian leaned forward and whispered.

"But I can't imagine you'll be able to get back there without him seeing you," Hessian spoke with a sweet amount of concern for her. Azeban responded with a soft-spoken brag.

"Oh? I'm a little insulted. Don't worry about me, Hessian. I can be very hard to place when I so choose. Francis has nothing on a stalking Beowulf, I doubt he'd find me." Azeban folded her arms and drew herself up with a smug wink. Hessian sat up in his seat at her words.

"Are you saying you've actually fought Beowolves," he asked, "or are you just exaggerating?" Azeban beamed. She hadn't gotten a chance to really talk to anyone in hours, and now she had a chance to dole out a little mystique. The boy across from her was surely a military boy or something like that.

"Fought enough to get accepted to Beacon," she said, waiting to see how that fell. She was surprised at the response she got. Hessian seemed intrigued but not as impressed as she'd hoped.

"I see," he said, "but I'm pretty sure you don't need to have killed Grimm already to get into Beacon though." Azeban frowned.

"How can you be so sure about that?" she said, not unkindly. He wasn't wrong for all she knew, but she wasn't about to let him take her down a peg.

"Because I've never killed one," Hessian said, a little smirk crawling across his face. Azeban jaw slowly drew open.

"You're joking," she said, "really?" Hessian picked up his sword, going back to winding the tassel around it.

"You sound so shocked," he said playfully, " now I'm a little insulted."

"The odds of bumping shoulders with another student aren't exactly high, Hessian," Azeban said, "and, no offense, but you've got a bit more of a military vibe than a Hunter." She hadn't considered her observation to be unkind, but Hessian frowned and looked away when he heard that.

"Anyone can become a Hunter," he said, tying on the tassel with some extra force.

"Right," Azeban replied, "sorry, Hessian, I didn't mean anything by that." She twiddled her thumbs, trying to think of a save to make herself not look like a jerk. I just meant that I guess… Ok, I'll put it this way. Where I come from, this was what I was trained for since I was about six, so I guess I have my own ideas of how Huntsmen look, ok? You don't need to listen to me." She looked up and saw that Hessian's face had transformed into the picture of awe.

"Since you were six? I didn't even pick up a sword until I was ten. Where are you from?" Azeban hushed Hessian this time, now more aware of their volume. She almost answered his question, but a hundred warnings from her grandmother and mother stalled her. Hessian seemed nice enough, but a part of her couldn't ignore that he was human.

"Oh, a little backwater village in Mistral," she offered.

"A lot of trouble with Grimm there?" Azeban glanced away. Hessian had found the lie in her story fascinating, and now she had to improvise an entire second identity. She started searching her mind for all the half-truths she could employ.

"Plenty. We're right by the capitol," she said. Relatively close by, at least, she thought. "It's very modest living there. There's nothing to do in town." Because there is no town. "We don't like to bother people. We've always kept to ourselves. " Hiding counts as keeping to yourself, right?

Hessian waited expectantly for more details, deflating a little when he realized she'd finished. Nice going, Azeban. At least he's impressed with you. Got your wish.

"I'm from here," he gestured to the rain-soaked window, "the Salt Cliffs. We've had Grimm come through before, but the military's never far away. I remember when I was four, these things came up out of the south. Daredevils. They look like horses, but much bigger. They liked to run down people in the open and trample them. We had to call Hunters in for that one, they kept sidestepping our soldiers."

"I see," Azeban said, "and ever since then you've wanted to be a Hunter?" Hessian turned shy again and looked down at the sword in his lap.

"Sort of," he said. In the quiet that followed, Azeban realized she hadn't heard Francis in a while. She rose, her body heavy from resting in such a nice seat, and stretched.

"Well, I better try my luck now," she yawned, "nice meeting you Hessian. Maybe we'll spot each other at Beacon." The boy didn't say anything for a minute but gave her a little nod. As she put her hand on the doorknob, he spoke up.

"You don't have to go," he said, "you can stay if you want." Azeban turned around and leaned on the glass door, arms crossed.

"Are you sure? I was worried I might be bothering you, Hessian." He nodded and glanced up at her with a small smile.

"Not at all. I could help you get to the campus tomorrow," he said, "I know the city fairly well." Azeban began to sit down again.

"Oh, I see how it is," she said with a sly whisper. "You're just worried I'll get lost in your big, scary city?" Hessian shook his head quickly, contrite.

"No," he said, "nothing like that…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't find your way." Azeban was a little startled at his sincerity.

"I was kidding with you, Hessian, that's all. I'd be very happy to have your help." She found herself fighting off a yawn as she spoke. She gave him a wry look.

"In fact, " she said, "if it's not a problem for you, I'll take you up on that offer right now. I'm dog-tired from all the action." With no hesitation, Hessian rose up and flicked off the lamp hanging between them, then settled into his seat.

"Oh wait, your sword…" she began, a little guilty.

"I can do it tomorrow," he said, " and I should get some sleep, too. We'll both have a full day." Azeban laid down on her seat. She listened to the click-clack of the train passing over the rails and had the sudden urge to close her eyes and did exactly that. Here there was no crush of body against body. No rude snoring or obsessed staff people. Just her and a new friend.

"Hessian, you awake?" She asked after a moment, her voice a whisper.

"Yes," he whispered back, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to say thanks again."

"O-oh," Hessian said, sounding flustered, "of course, no problem at all."

There was another long moment of silence before the boy spoke.

"Hey, Azeban?" He was careful about how he pronounced her name.

"Yes, Hessian?"

"You can call me 'Hesh' if you want to," he paused before dotting his request with a little modest 'good night.'

In the dark, Azeban smiled. She liked the way that name sounded.

"Ok, Hesh. Good night."

xxx

**Editor Note:**

**All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**


	3. First Impressions

Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth.

Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing.

xxx

Rhod stepped off the subway car and looked confounded at his surroundings. Across from him, a wall bore large letters written in faded paint across the curved wall of the metro station.

HUNTER'S MEMORIAL END OF BLUE LINE

The tiles on the walls were streaked with smears of hardened concrete that patched up places they'd chipped over the years. A few yards from the front of the train, a half circle of concrete sealed off a forgotten subway line. The platform was devoid of life, save for himself and a grubby man of about fifty who was methodically checking a few vending machines for change.

How must ye have to've wronged Vale City to deserve a memorial like this? Rhod hefted his duffle bags over each shoulder, jostling both his shoulder pads as he walked onward.

The armor was simple and sturdy padding, protecting his shoulders and knees. It was the result of a month's work cutting and fastening together pieces of his old mining gear. His father's helmet topped his head, making him look equally as fortified as he was out-of-place. His luggage had no room for all of his gear, so he'd been left no choice but to don it all when he disembarked from his boat at Otr's Landing, a spot out at the city's northern border.

That had been quite a sight. The blue of the bay, the white wall encircling the city, and the red stretch of Forever Fall Forest tracing the edges of both water and kingdom. He could only imagine what Beacon, or even the rest of the city, would look like.

He kept his face down as he emerged into the late morning sun, his eyes blinking at the light with a practiced reflex. The nearest buildings were brick and steel factories so rusted, crumbled, and husked-out that they looked as steady as a paper dollhouse. To one side was a road that emptied onto a weather-beaten drawbridge, speckled with what was left of its original paint job. It leads to a concrete island that showed signs of life; that is, telephone poles were coated in flyers and decorated with sneakers draped over their drooping wires. There was nothing to his other side but a beach that stretched to a shore of jagged rocks surrounding the brim of a slanted, fortified seawall bordering the city's coast. He took in all around him for a hard pause before realizing he was much more lost than he'd first assumed.

He searched the eastern horizon and found Beacon nestled between the leaning smokestacks of a dozen silent factories. He'd gone from being far away from Beacon to very far away from Beacon.

Hunters' Memorial?

"Oh, fer the Brothers' love," he grumbled out loud to himself, "Rhod, what were ye tinkin'?"

When he'd arrived in the city proper after a cramped airship flight, he'd picked that station for its likely name. As if there would've been a stop labeled HUNTERS GO HER.

He glanced over his shoulder, towards the southern stretch of the mighty wall that protected the city. A sign caught his eye, faded green and standing slightly crooked, that told him ahead was the way to the subway terminal leading to Mountain Glenn.

"Bloody stars," he said, at once drawn and repulsed by the thought. Even a mining town like Ainnis-Clotch, far across the sea, was filled with second-hand horror stories of that disastrous night in Vale's history. It felt like the most obtuse example of all ill omens.

Rhod rubbed his eyes, heaving a sigh that became a growl of frustration. He wandered over to lean on the railing overlooking the seawall. The ocean stretched out from the Bay of Patch to some unseen spot where it became the Great Bay of Two Kingdoms. A week ago, he'd barely seen more than his mining town, and now he stood at an intersection of life, death, history, and industry.

All he could think about was how damned tired and lost he was.

"Spit to see which ways up," his da would've said, "then dig til you strike sunlight." He turned to the little island across the bridge. It didn't need an hour of walking or another trip on the confusing network of subway rails so it would have to do. He adjusted the bags on his shoulders and crossed over.

The road forked suddenly at the island end of the bridge. A West End and an East End. Rhod frowned as he noted that, at some point in the night, someone must've snuck up to the sign and defaced it. A large B had been spray-painted in white so that it East End now read 'Beast End.' A few faded marks outlining fresh white lettering suggested this was not the first time. His boot kicked an empty can of spray paint away on the asphalt, making a bigger racket than Rhod had intended.

"I've been hoping to catch one of you thugs in the act," a voice spoke from his right with spiteful triumph.

Rhod turned and saw a trio of boys his age stepping to him from the shadows of an overgrown tree that had burst the borders of its street planter and cracked the sidewalk around it. A sign that read RECONCILIATION STREET was almost lost in its branches. He was so caught off guard that he actually smiled as they emerged.

"Good mornin' and good life, fellas, might'nt ye give a lost oaf a little bit o' direction?" His smile slowly shrank as he took in the contempt on their leader's faces. The one who spoke had lion's ears peeking out of a thick swoop of golden hair. His eyes, likewise, were catlike and deep green. They looked at him with all the force of a cannonball.

"You're a little late to the fun, human," the lad said in a hard voice, "one of your friends got here first, sometime in the early morning. Or maybe you're here for something worse? What's the armor for?" Rhod blinked as he sized the three boys up quickly, his face poker-blank all the while.

The three boys were Faunus, and none seemed pleased to see him, though the leader seemed amused in some dark way. For lack of a better idea, Rhod smiled and gave an awkward little laugh.

"Ye got me aw wrong, mate, Ah was nae out fer trouble," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, "Ah'm trying tae find Beacon Academy." His challenger grimaced at the sound of his voice.

"The hell did you just say?" the lion-eared boy looked angrier, perhaps a little off guard. "Are you trying to play us like you're stupid or something?"

"Naw," said Rhod, a little uncertain if it was the right answer, "Ah'm trying tae learn me way up as a Hunter." One of the two boys snickered and elbowed his friend. He whispered something Rhod barely heard, but it made the other laugh. His ears burned.

"I...what.. Are you drunk, kid? The hell is wrong with your voice?" the boy snapped. Rhod frowned and began to feel a little annoyed himself.

"Nae call tae be coorse with me, mate, Ah'm only lost. Ah'm fae Atlas, naw it's yer business, and Ah'm here fer schooling. A' Beacon. D'ya ken the trolley stop? Beacon trolley stop?"

"Jimmy," said one of the loungers, still by their tree, "I think this guy's just some yokel. He's gotta be harmless. Hell, he can barely string a sentence together."

The one with lion ears glanced over his shoulder with a venomous glare, then turned it on Rhod. He looked the tall Atlasian up and down, sneering.

"Get out of my town, human," he mumbled, turning back to his friends to walk away. Rhod gritted his teeth, managing some politeness when he responded.

"A'right, sure, mate, only Ah dinnae yet know how tae get tae Beacon. Do ye ken the way tae Beacon?" One of the other boys made a face like he was holding his breath, then finally burst out into a cruel laugh.

"Brother alive, I knew the Hunters were desperate, but I guess they just let everyone in now! This guy's sober as a man outa church and that's how he talks?!" The boy blurted out the insult between booming laughs, getting a rise out of his mate as well.

"Don't be idiots," snapped Jimmy, before locking eyes with Rhod in a fierce stare, "he's making it up cause he's scared of us." Rhod could've handled being called a coward or a liar individually. Both at once was intolerable.

"Ah'm nae scared of ye," he said, "an' its hoora bad tae call somebody a liar where ah'm fae." Jimmy turned, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

"Brother Jude, Brother Skein, fall in," he snapped. Both boys, one swarthy with the eyes of a hawk and the other with curly hair around a pair of ram's horns, stepped into place on either side of their leader. Rhod felt himself tighten up in anticipation of a fight.

He cursed himself. Pride afore the hurly-burly, Rhod, ye damn prat!

The three of them barely reached Rhod's shoulders but they had him outnumbered. In the sunlight, he realized all three of them were wearing matching necklaces of black twine strung with a single large white tooth.

"Friend," the swarthy one, Skein, said, "Brother James is being awfully nice, believe it or not, so be a good 'ol bumpkin and walk away."

"Ah dinnae ken who crapped in yer garden, mate, Ah can tell ye it wasnae me. A' least ye may apologize. Mayhaps ye only ken how tae talk? Tell me Beacon's trolley stop, sharpish!" The ram-horned lad, Jude, stopped chuckling and turned sour.

"Boy, you really are dense, kid. Get lost or get bent. Do. You. Understand? Or should I repeat it in it yokel for you?" Rhod's hands tightened into fists around the straps of his duffle bags.

Uncle Aiken had often said thumping someone who deserved it was nothing to be ashamed of. He wanted to thump these three pretty sorely. Considering how heavy his luggage was, he could probably swing it with the force of a hammer.

But he was to be a Hunter. He had more important things to do; a glance at his watch reminded him that orientation began in two hours, and he still didn't know how to get to Beacon.

"A'right," he said, low and dangerous, "if yer set on being rude, Ah'll leave ye be." He turned and marched back towards the bridge, simmering with rage and flushed with humiliation. He almost wished they'd throw a final taunt his way so he could justify spinning about and charging all three of them.

All he heard was their footsteps beginning to shadow him. His mind started to race. If these boys really were all talk, they would've left him to walk away. There was something more sinister going on. At first, he considered doing as they asked in the hope they might back off. He saw a vision of himself trapped across the bridge in an abandoned part of the town with no one but these three for company.

With not a lot of ideas, he darted left around a corner and raced down Reconciliation Street. Brother James made a cry of surprise before the three boys started speeding after him. Rhod sprinted -not something he was fond of doing- with his duffle bags punching him in the lower back as he went. The street stretched into a three-way intersection in the shape of a triangle.

He passed a growing number of citizens, all Faunus as far as he could see, who yelled variants of 'slow down' at him and his pursuers. Whoever these boys were, witnesses did not frighten them. Already low on steam, he decided to make a stand somewhere with whatever gas he still had in the tank.

A squat townhouse with a deli offered respite through a "We're Open" sign. The door was flung open, sending a chalkboard menu crashing to its side as Rhod decided to have it out there.

His boots screeched as he spun around on the tiles. Both his duffle bags hit the floor with a heavy thud. One still held his hammer inside, and there wasn't time to root around for it. He snatched a steel chair from its place at one of three little tables, then practiced swinging it before he took a stance and waited.

Nerves high, he searched his surroundings and took note of the only other occupant in the little deli. A lad, a human lad, stared up at him with mouth full and soft purple-pink eyes wide in shock. He had been hunched over a barely-touched plate of ham steak with two fried eggs on the side.

"Hoora sorry, mate," Rhod huffed, "but ye'll want tae clear out in a moment." The boy looked over his shoulder as he heard Rhod's pursuers rush into the deli. Brother James glanced at Rhod's chair and motioned for his friends to halt.

"You should have just left, human," he hissed, he drew a switchblade from the back of his pants. Rhod bared his teeth and tried to look tough as nails.

"Aye? Ye might've told me the fecking trolley stop and Ah'd be gone fae yer life forevermore! Now what ye want? To have a go at me? Aim to trim me fingernails with that?" Rhod growled with his nastiest inflection. Now would've been a perfect time to figure out how that semblance of his worked, but he'd faced many Grimm without it. He could take a few boys. Even with just a chair.

"Nah, let me get those fingers instead!" James snarled, behind him Brother Skein and Brother Jude looked between themselves and their leader's knife. Perhaps they were surprised how quick this had escalated. Rhod felt a little thrill of adrenaline at that. He liked that they were scared.

"Wait, James this is-" Jude began. His leader was out for blood and rushed forward to take it. Rhod got ready behind his chair with a sharp inhale, but a blur of movement from the right intercepted him and his attacker. Suddenly, everything turned still.

"Ok, Jimmy Bombard," the skinny boy said, "I think that's enough." Rhod tried to piece together how the little seated lad with the periwinkle eyes had managed to wrap two sinewy arms around Brother James.

All at once, he'd gone from tucked in a corner to grasping the Faunus' wrists and twisting both arms at funny angles. Brother James looked frustrated more than pained, but he seemed to wince whenever he tried to struggle.

"Rip," James snarled, "oh, you're dead meat this time! Never leave that little hole you live in again, or I'll bring the boys over and... Let me go, damn it!" Rip spun Brother James around so that his back faced Rhod and James faced his stupefied comrades, both trying to decide between helping their friend, flanking Rhod or just start bargaining for Jame's freedom.

"Afraid I can't do that, Jimmy, or you might try something stupid with that little needle of yours. Drop it and you're free. I don't have another reason to keep hugging you like this." Brother James did little else besides wriggle and shriek indignities.

"Alright, HEY!" A deep voice bellowed with a loud clap of the hands. A moment later, the kids watched a big, round beachball-of-a-belly emerge from the deli kitchen ahead of a great big man as dark as Rhod but with double the hair (though that didn't say much.) The man's head was topped with bull horns and bovine ears and his face was flabby, coated in stubble.

The old man carried himself proudly like an old-time general marching through a victorious battlefield, swinging his heavy arms on either side of his body, one of them clutching a wooden baseball bat. He looked everyone over calmly, almost bored, but clearly frustrated.

"Ok. Everybody in this deli, and I mean everybody, whose packing any kind of steel is gonna drop it right now before I say another word," he shot Rhod a glare and bobbed his head meaningfully, "especially if you're steel is my damn property, youngblood!" Rhod set the chair down and, after a loud 'ahem' from the newcomer, sheepishly returned it to its place at a table.

"Jock," Rip called out, "you don't need to get involved."

"Uh-uh. Shut up," Jock barked wagging a finger, "I said I wasn't gonna have to say another word. I ain't sure who to be mad at yet, so everybody's on the hook until I say otherwise." He glared at Jude and Skein. " Not one more time. Drop it, whatever it is, I wanna hear it hit the tiles, boys."

"But we didn't do anything," Jude whined. The portly man focused into their eyes, lips tightening, nose flaring, and his big meaty hand wringing the hilt of his bat like it was a wooden neck. Jude and Skein winced with embarrassment, then tossed their switchblades onto the floor.

Jock eyed Brother James.

"Jimmy Bombard, you drop that little toothpick on your own, or I'm gonna let Rip help you," he scolded. Rip leaned over Brother James' shoulder and Rhod heard him whisper.

"C'mon, Jimmy. This is already over. Don't be difficult just to be difficult, man." Brother James tried to give him a vicious headbutt, but Rip leaned away in time. Rhod saw his grip tighten and heard James yelp. Everyone waited, Jock most patient of them all, until the knife clattered to the tiles a second later.

"Look at all this drama," Jock mumbled, arms waving over his head. He exchanged his bat for a broom and dustpan. "Whoever's here that didn't come to eat, get out and stay out. Rip, you let Jimmy go now. Jude Ramshead, Skein Ballo, I don't want to hear a word from you or I'll go knock on your door and tell your mamas and your papas what just happened in my store."

The boys stayed quiet and still as Rip did what he was told. Jock swept the three switchblades into his dustpan and dumped them in a garbage can behind the counter, then held the can by its brim to offer it to the boys.

"You should chuck those necklaces in there too, while you're at it, Jimmy," Jock said, "no good is gonna come of any of this. Whatever those goons told you to get you so riled up, remember that I was the one who got put on a boat to Menagerie, not you. When Ol' Jock starts strutting through town scaring strangers, then you'll know it's time to throw in. Until then, why don't you go get some more schooling?"

Brother James' eyes flashed with little points of green fire. Even as he backed away he looked ready to leap on Rip. There was such a mixture of rage and humiliation on his face that Rhod was starting (just barely) to feel sorry for him.

"You're making a mistake, brother," James said, barely holding back his temper, "these humans won't repay your kindness in the end. You're rejecting your real people! The White Fang will remember this on the day the walls come down and the Faunus take their revenge!" Rhod looked puzzled with that.

If your walls come down, the Grimm come in. Then nobody's having a good day when that happens, mate. Rhod pondered the boy's words, then glanced at their necklaces once more and realized that the white teeth were, in fact, all long curved fangs. He would have laughed in the kids face if not for his company. Apparently, the White Fang, 'scourge of the Hard-won Peace', was a little desperate themselves.

Rip shook his head. "Good grief, Jimmy. 'When the walls come down..' Where'd you get that line? You and me used to shoot hoops together. What happened to you?"

"I got real, Rip," Brother James said, though with a tad less fire than before, "stay out of our way from now on. Brothers, let's move out." The three youths stared down Rhod and Rip as they left. They moseyed down the street looking cool and unperturbed like they all hadn't been disarmed by an old man.

"And you," Rip said, giving Rhod a cool look, "you got fifteen minutes before I make you leave! They'll hunker in a blind alley somewhere and wait for you to pass by. Go along West End. In fact, go right along the old boardwalk over by the water. Those boys have marching orders that keep them here. Make a right back across the bridge and take a train back into the city. Hang around and they'll go crying to someone who isn't scared of Jock-" The old Faunus shook his broom at Rip as he cut him off.

"Hang on, Rip, before we throw him out on his ear, maybe hear him out? Why'd you come here anyway, son? East End is not much a place for humans to just go slumming. It's a neighborhood, not a lot to do anyway. Be honest with Ol' Jock, if you came looking for trouble then you owe me an apology."

"Ah was only trying tae get tae Beacon Academy," Rhod said, sitting the chair he'd nearly used as a weapon, "honest, Ah meant no trouble! Well, not a' first." Jock looked surprised when Rhod mentioned the Hunter school. Rip looked absolutely thunderstruck, if not a little sick.

"No way," Rip said.

"Aye, me a Hunter-in-training," Rhod smiled as he shrugged and felt like a big fool. Hunters didn't pick fights with people on city streets. To say nothing of squaring up inside of a deli. What burned was how badly he had wanted their fight in the end, before these nice people had come to his rescue.

Jock's laughter brought him out of his own head.

"You always hear people say it, Rip! The Divine Brothers lock one gate and open another, right slim? But they don't tell you it's a giant from Atlas that's gonna bust it open!" Jock laughed very hard at his own joke.

"You're in luck, youngblood. My friend here is about to join the 'illustrious ranks of the Hunters' himself. Aren't you Rip?" Rip, in perfect opposition to Jock, seemed about to throw up.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "how about that." Jock frowned and gave him another slap on the shoulder, not hard but more pointed.

"Don't be rude, Rip, ask him his name and shake his hand! Keep it professional." Rip shook hands like Rhod was wearing a black hood and standing next to a guillotine.

"Rhodizite Henry," the big lad said, "of Ainnis-Clotch in Atlas. Yer a dab hand at fighting, Rip."

"Sure," Rip said, offering the weakest smile Rhod had ever seen, "Rip of…well, here. East End. Nice to meet you."

Doesnae seem that way.

"There we go," Jock grinned, "Rhod why don't you take a seat with Rip and I'll whip up some eggs for you. Don't try to turn me down, there's no way your that big and not hungry. Rip needs to eat before he leaves anyway, and it wouldn't do to make another future-Hunter just sit around and wait on him." Rhod took his seat across from Rip and Rip set into picking at his food.

Despite Jock's hopes, there wasn't much else that happened but Rhod sitting and waiting. Rhod wanted to ask him how he chose the Hunters, but took his silence as a sign of irritation.

"Order up!" Jock broke the silence with a boisterous delivery of some over-easy eggs and toast. Rhod ate and chatted with the animated Faunus as he did so. Rip might as well have faded into the wallpaper. They were in the midst of comparing football teams -Jock was a Vale City Royals fan down to the core- when Rip stood up.

Rhod saw him pocket a phone with a stealthy hand gesture disguised as a stretch. Jock wasn't fooled.

"He's texting at the table," Jock shook his head, "Didn't we all teach you better? And look how much you left behind." Rip gave him an easy smile that almost had Rhod fooled.

"Too excited," he said, "let me at those Grimm. Let's retake Mountain Glenn today. Rah, Rah, Rah, go team. I'm not hungry, Jock, but thanks anyway." Jock looked down at him over his heavy-set chin.

"Careful now, slim," he nodded towards Rhod, "don't want to give your new friend the wrong impression."

Bit late for that, Rhod thought. Rip didn't seem so bad, but he did seem awfully ready to be rid of him.

"Honest," Rhod said, standing from his own cleaned plate, "I'll be alright now that I know the right station. King Simon Square and straight up to the airship terminal. Easy to remember."

"You're both going to the same place," Jock said, eyes still on Rip, "and it's only good sense and manners that Rip go with you. Don't argue with Ol' Jock, Rhodizite. It'll be good for you both. Okay?" Rhod nodded and Rip, after a pause, shrugged along with him.

"That's settled then. Don't forget your things. C'mon now, you're burning the afternoon," Rhod grabbed his dufflebags and Rip hefted a rolling suitcase from a spot under the table. A few minutes later found them crossing beneath haunted warehouses on the quiet side of Moreau Island.

They passed a group of Faunus playing dominoes atop an old oil drum. Rhod wondered if they'd have another fight on their hands until one, a man about his size with bear's ears, waved. He turned down the dial on a boombox next to him. None of these young men wore necklaces with teeth.

"I see you, Rip, I see you heading out of here like it's no big thing," he raised up one fist, "you don't forget about us now. Fight the Grimm. Fight the power!" Rip raised his own fist in response and gave the first genuine smile Rhod had seen of him.

"Later Brown," he called back, "don't ever turn that noise down for anybody."

Rhod tried to stay subtle and unnoticed, giving Rip's friend a smile when he couldn't think of anything else. Brown gave him a strange look at first, but then offered a single nod of recognition.

They crossed back over the bridge -the Reunion Bridge Rip called it- and wound up at the Hunters' Memorial platform without further incident. Rip did stop to scowl at the graffitied sign and curse the vandals as 'persistent bastards'.

Rip did not bother to look at the map of Vale City Metro, a rainbow spiderweb full of street names and white dots. They walked past it and Rip slumped onto a bench, pulled out his phone to text, seemingly profiling each incoming train by the sound it made as it passed. Rhod looked around the ugly platform.

"This station looks hoora bad, Rip, nae offense," he said, trying to spark a conversation, "why they call it Hunter's Memorial?" Rip didn't bother glancing up.

"Used to be called Moreau Station, and then Mountain Glenn happened. That's how it got the name," he said, "but when Mountain Glenn happened, no-one wanted to live around here if they didn't have to. Then the Forced Migration happened and nobody lived around here. That's how it got 'hoora' bad." Another train rumbled into the station and Rip stood up.

Rhod simply followed him onto the right car and waited for him to speak more. The awkwardness of it all was killing him. He had to ask him at least one question or he'd go stir-crazy from the silence.

"So," he said, haltingly, "Ah'm awful sorry I made you leave early, mate. Ah didn't mean…" Rip glanced up from his phone, eyes full of a vague pity Rhod didn't care for.

"It's not your fault," Rip sighed, " you got lost and those idiots chased you. Couldn't be helped."

"No," Rhod said, a little peeved, "Ah could've paid better attention. Ah could've let myself walk away, but Ah didnae. Ah might've at least had it out with 'em somewhere else. Ah didnae. That made ye have to jump in to help me. It made yer friend put himself out there to help me. So thanks fer it. And Ah'm sorry Ah put you on the spot. Ah owe you one peaceable breakfast, aye?" Rhod offered an apologetic smile to dot the sentiment.

"No problem," Rip said, staring at him wide-eyed after the little speech.

"Well, barry then," Rhod replied and turned to avoid letting Rip see how embarrassed he felt.

Rip sat up, slid his phone away and seemed to take interest in him for the first time.

"Rhod, I've been rude to you, man, and I'm sorry. Truth is, my…friend and I were going to hang out for a little bit before I went to Beacon and I was kinda pissed we couldn't. But that's not on you, not really, and I don't want you to think that it is. Jeez, this got awkward, huh? Start over?" He gave Rhod a courteous extension of his fist.

"Fine as we are, Rip, and no harm done," Rhod, more used to a handshake, hesitated a moment before forming a fist of his own.

"Cool," Rip said, bumping their knuckles together.

"Hey," Rip said at once, nearly making him jump, "can I ask you something, Rhodizite?"

"Aye," he said, leaning forward, "call me Rhod and ye can ask away."

"How'd you make this decision? Like how'd you know this is how you wanted to spend your life?" Rip's question hit Rhod straight in the heart. He might've been tempted to embellish or play it off or try to convince the lad of some big philosophical code he lived by.

But he'd be lying. And Rhoditzite Henry was proud to say he was the worst liar in the world.

"Well, Rip," he said, "I ain't glad to say it, but Ah'm not sure. Ah guess it sort of all just happened because…well, Ah had other options but none Ah liked! A part of it was a quick choice, too. Ah'm still figuring it all out meself... Honestly, try and ask me again tomorrow."

Rhod was certain Rip would, if not outright laugh, at least fix him with another pitying stare. Instead, the boy smiled at him for the first time.

"Oh yeah? Well then, how 'bout you ask me tomorrow, too?" The answer made Rhod perk up a bit extra in his seat, like it took had taken a few pounds off his shoulders. A metallic voice announced, three times, that King Simon Square was the next stop.

xxx

Editor Note:

All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!


	4. Old Dogs, New Meat

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to Eliort on for her art contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

xxx

As the airship approached its docking station at Beacon, Azeban gave one last longing look out the window.

"It isn't fair," she mumbled, "I think we could've seen a little bit of it." The tantalizing sight of the historic skyline of Vale city mocked her from across the deep, forested valley that separated Beacon from the city proper. Her eyes settled on a pyramid structure she identified as Irep Station, where they'd gotten off their train together.

The station was a magnificent tribute to the war chieftess Shezmu Irep. A bas-relief of she herself had been the centerpiece of the whole building. Fearsome, tall, and proud, the Faunus woman stood above the platforms. It had been the first thing she saw when the train pulled up.

And if a train station was that extravagant, Azeban shook with glee at the idea of seeing the Valish royal palace. Hesh had said they might go see it over the weekend if she wanted his company.

_That's days from now, _she thought, _and who knows how many weekends I even get here. If I have to leave forever by the end of Spring I want to see __**all **__of it._

"Where else could we go after the palace?" She asked Hesh. The boy was frowning at his scroll, oblivious to everything else.

Hesh scowled at the thirtieth text message his father had sent that morning. 'Answer your phone' read the latest one. Those and the half-dozen attempted calls were getting on his nerves.

_Honestly, dad, you're about to leave, and this is what you're trying to do?_ Corvo had insisted that Hesh should focus on getting settled, fed, and comfortable before he tried talking to his father. That suited him fine. He wasn't looking forward to the call.

_Why can't you understand that this is what I'm doing? _

"Hesh?" Azeban had stooped down in front of him to meet his eyes. He pocketed his phone quickly.

"Sorry, uh," he tried a smile, "certainly there's Coronation Temple, that's a good one. What else? Maybe the Bridges over Cleft River?" Azeban searched his face carefully.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"It's just my dad pestering me that's all," he said.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Azeban asked. Hesh shook his head quickly.

He wasn't going to tell her he was a runaway. Whatever image he'd manage to cultivate to Azeban was what he wanted to stick with. He didn't want her to be part of the Crane family drama. Even he didn't want to be part of it.

"All first-years," a soft, electronic voice buzzed, "please move to the front of the airship. All first-years, please move to the front of the airship." Hesh, happy for the distraction, lead Azeban through the crowded gondola. His Scroll vibrated against his thigh as his dad made call number thirty-one.

They found, not a wall of glass awaiting them, but a large holographic projector showing off a partially 3D news report surrounded sparsely by a few other students. Hesh noted the space left alone by the upperclassmen, far more than they needed to accommodate roughly three dozen first-years.

"This can't be it," he said to Azeban, "this can't be all of us, can it?" The Faunus girl said nothing, distracted by the wall of light projected before her. Again, the luxuries of the inner-Kingdom life left her speechless. She fought the urge to reach out and touch the anchorwoman that floated in front of her.

The holograph depicted a flotilla of ships imposed behind her and floating above them was a rendering of Vale's twin axes. Azeban's ears swiveled to catch the woman's voice.

"The Vacuon Parliament's morning session was interrupted when several members of the Tree-Shade Caretakers began to protest the departure of Vale's First Fleet to conduct exercises along the Kingdom's eastern coast. The OTC is an organization that argues for greater unity between the Four Kingdoms, and views the exercises as unnecessarily antagonistic to the Kingdom of Mistral." The woman's face remained neutral as she delivered, in a single moment, more information than Azeban had ever really heard regarding world politics.

"I thought the Kingdoms were at peace," she said as she felt Hesh step into place next to her.

"Well, they haven't started lobbing bombs at each other, so I guess we still are," sighed a voice that was deep, feminine and most certainly not her friend's. Azeban looked left and then up.

The girl towered above both of them, with light brown skin that bulged with muscle and wavy hair cascading down to her shoulders, so dark and shiny it looked like it was woven from obsidian. A septum-ring hung under a proud nose that gave her sharp face an almost carven look. One thin eyebrow arched over her eyes, each a striking orange color.

"Hello," Hesh said from Azeban's right shoulder, "are you a first-year, as well?"

"Maya," she said, turning from them to the projector, "and if you hold that face too long, girl, it's going to stick that way." She tossed her hair back and Azeban's eyes widened further at the sight of the tall girl's ear. There was a gauge earring in her lobe. The thought of the giant hole it was making nauseated her. Her own ears laid flat against her scalp in horror.

"Ah, hi…" Azeban said, glancing back at the screen. The girl chuckled from the back of her throat.

"Hah. Yea, still a lot of Faunus who have hang-ups about piercings," she said, "my mom would love you, she hated it too. Didn't let me get my nose done until after I tried to do it myself." Azeban's mood soured at her words. Intentional or not, she didn't care for humans telling her what all Faunus were like.

"Maybe not all Faunus do," she said, frowning. Maya either didn't hear her or didn't react. She was watching the anchorwoman.

"Tree-Shade Caretakers Spokesman Aldus Proverb made a statement outside after the protesters were removed, with one confirmed arrest, by Parliament Security." A video appeared in the corner of the projection. A swarthy man with a long, white beard spoke into a dozen microphones.

"Oh, god," Azeban heard Hesh groan quietly, "him again."

"Before our removal," the Tree-Shade Spokesman said in a steady voice, "we wished to state that it is particularly inappropriate that the new amphibious combat maneuvers this year will be lead by Major-General Towton Lagoon. Major-General Lagoon has yet to be punished for the deaths of three-hundred civilians in the Faunus Rights Revolution that occurred, without proper trial or sufficient cause, in the city of Glass. There are multiple sources, including former military colleagues, who have provided evidence to the Vytali Court of Human Rights. We demand he be held accountable."

"Coward," Maya growled at the sound of Lagoon's name, "murderer." On the screen, the spokesman waved his hand at the questions pelting him. Next to her, Azeban felt Hesh tense up and his breath go almost silent as the man continued speaking.

"As well," he started while still waved away questions, "as well, we believe it is inappropriate that these maneuvers are being conducted under the guidance of Brigadier General Gainsboro Crane. Brigadier General Crane has refused to give concrete evidence before the Vytali Court of Human Rights regarding the actions of Valish soldiers during the campaign in the Faunus Rights Revolutions. These actions include; the mutilation of deceased combatants, torture, and the destruction of the village of Driftwood."

Aldus Proverb looked straight into the camera as he continued.

"To these two men, we say that the world cannot fully heal until the actions of the past have been accounted for. Major General Lagoon, face your accusations in court. Brigadier General Crane, do not hide the truth. Not for the dead, who cannot be brought back. Not for the living, who cannot be consoled. But for those yet unborn, who must live in the world we leave behind. We would no more forget or ignore these crimes if they were perpetrated against you. Do the right thing."

The image shrunk and Lisa Lavender's stoic face filled the screen. Azeban remembered the image of the ax-bearing warriors in Glaucous Station, a woman with flowing hair among them.

"Crane," she said softly.

"Of course," Maya scoffed, "if Lagoon's there, his attack-dog can't be far behind. Gainsboro 'I Can't Recall' Crane. The man who forgot a thousand moments. Just as heartless as Lagoon."

"Shut-up," Hesh said, his voice was thin and trembling. Maya and Azeban both turned to him. His grey eyes roiled like twin hurricanes and his fists were clenched so tightly together his knuckles had gone white. "Don't repeat that tabloid garbage."

"I'm only saying what's true," Maya said, her voice pitching low, "but if that's not to your liking, maybe go somewhere else." Azeban crossed her arms and turned to face Maya fully.

"He can't," she said, "he's a first-year like me and you. Maybe _you _should move if that's not to _your _liking." Maya shot her a confused glare.

"A Faunus? Defending Gainsboro Crane and Towton Lagoon?" Azeban's ears lowered in anger and she cracked the knuckles of her left hand.

"I'm not defending anyone. Maybe you haven't met enough Faunus to really get what we're like." She nearly jumped back at the rage that spread across the tall girl's face. She did when Maya's hand shot out.

Maya's fingers grasped her own tank-top by the left sleeve and rolled it up. Azeban, for a moment, though she was looking at tattoos. It was after a second that she realized what the rosettes of pink skin dotted with black were. Jaguar spots.

"I guess I know at least _half_," she snarled, "what _you do_." Azeban hadn't the faintest idea what to say in that moment. She looked at Maya's ears. Human. She glanced at her painted fingernails. Human. She looked into her eyes, her human eyes, and saw the pain in them. _Her mother wouldn't let her get her ears pierced._

"Your parents..." she clapped her hands over her mouth a second too late. Maya rolled her sleeve down. Her rage had gone cold and bitter.

"Aren't together," she said, "I think I _will _go somewhere else." Maya turned and elbowed her way back into the heart of the gondola. She vanished from sight in the sea of stranger's faces.

The hologram changed and a woman named Glynda Goodwitch began to instruct them to the Heime Hall Auditorium. Neither listened very closely to her.

"What was that about? You okay?" Azeban asked. Hessian groped at his phone in his pocket, believing it was ringing again. He was imagining things.

"Nothing. I don't even know why I said anything. Sorry about that."

A moment later, the airship docked and the doors opened. Azeban and Hesh walked out in silence into the late Summer day.

...

Ozpin's eyes traveled over the students of Beacon Academy. His Academy.

"Your time at this school will teach you that knowledge can only take you so far. It is up to you to take the first step." He finished his opening speech and relinquished the microphone to Dr. Goodwitch. Sidling to the right, he began examining the first-year students where they'd been herded in the front. He did a head count. 36 candidates. 9 teams, if they all managed to pass the initiation.

_Not nearly as many as we'd hoped for. _He resisted letting the worry show on his face. He needed coffee. He needed coffee with greater frequency these days, and by proxy slept less than he should.

A line of daylight flashed in at the back of the room and Ozpin's eyes darted quickly to the spot. The side closed quietly enough that none of the seniors, who sat looking bored or wistful, turned their heads. Either the new occupant was walking with catlike grace, or the class of '17 was severely underprepared for graduation in eight months.

Whoever had come into the hall was sticking in the shadows, leaving their intention's unreadable. Ozpin's heart-rate began to increase and he shifted his grip on the steel cane in his right hand. He stared hard into the darkness, willing whoever had come in to appear. If they were there. If he wasn't just losing his mind again. He shut his eyes and began to breathe a bit heavily, unaware that the microphone could pick it up.

"Oz?" Glynda whispered, the Headmaster forcefully peeled his eyelids open to the stage's searing footlights. The students were staring at him.

"Let's have a wonderful year, shall we?" His invitation was met with stray affirmations from the upperclassmen and uncertain silence from the new students. He could feel Glynda staring at him. A few faculty members, seated away from the student body, shared confused looks among themselves.

From the staff section, Instructor Feral Greystoke finally made his move. The scarred Hunter clapped once, startling the staff surrounding him, then rose from his folding chair and began to address the audience with a voice that boomed, even without a microphone.

"Alright, all Apprentice Hunters clear the floor! Sophomores, Juniors, and Seniors shift your gear and your asses to the dormitories! No dilly-dallying!" He pointed a meaty finger at someone in the crush of people. "That means you too, Dannielle Flowers! Yea, you got taller over the Summer, but not much smarter, huh?" A laugh rippled through the room. Glynda pursued her lips at the instructor's choice of words, resolving to speak with him later.

"New meat," he growled at the first-years, "pick a patch of floor in the ballroom, get some supper, and take an hour to yourselves. The rest of the day is yours, but tomorrow we're coming for you bright and early! Be ready!" A short woman with a long braid of red hair stood up and pushed Feral to the side.

"Hunter Greystoke meant to say welcome to Beacon, at some point. My name's Oakley Gracia." She thumbed the brim of a battered brown stetson in greeting. "If any of y'all have questions, me and Feral will trade you an answer, if we can. For now, let's get you all corralled right where you are! Shake hands, say hello, and try to learn each other's names."

Ozpin peered past the student body as the double doors opened at the back. He saw a thin man in a pastel white leisure suit.

_York?_

He gave Ozpin a little wave and sauntered outside. Ozpin squinted at the figure, praying to the brothers he really was seeing things.

…

"I was hoping Instructor Greystoke would be mature enough to at least wait until he was on the stage before he started shouting. But again, I was proven wrong," Glynda sighed as they stepped through the auditorium's back doors. Ozpin adjusted his dark glasses against the late summer sunlight to little effect.

"He's at least good with the upperclassmen," he offered.

"He should be," Glynda replied, "he acts like a high school student half the time. But he's not the best introduction for first-years, Oz."

"That's what we have Huntress Gracia for. Good work getting Oakley in from that search-and-destroy mission down in Rojas, by the way. I'd forgotten how bad the airlines get this time of year." He was surprised by the sharp look Glynda gave him. She put a hand on his shoulder and lead him off the main path.

"_Thank her_ for canceling weekend plans with her wife, Oz. She's doing twice the work we should be asking of her, and not saying a word about it. And thank Bard Avon for lending us one of his pilots, as well." Glynda glanced back over her shoulder and spoke again when she was satisfied no one was in earshot.

"You had... a moment there in the auditorium," she said, concern creeping into her voice, "and I wouldn't need a doctorate in medicine to say you haven't been sleeping enough. Dr. Humors was right about taking time off. If you're not feeling well, maybe you should let me handle the bulk of the administrative work. Perhaps take some time to do hands-on lessons with the students. It'll be good for you."

"Better for the school as well?" Ozpin teased. He gave her a smile but Glynda looked contrite.

"Oz," she said, "I'm not saying that." Ozpin shook his head, wincing at how much it was pounding.

"Just trying to lighten the mood, Glynda," he said, "there was a late arrival to the speech and… it distracted me. But please, no need for all of this 'time off work' business either. I wouldn't dream of taking any time with the students from you."

Dr. Goodwitch seemed pleased by that, but Ozpin could see the worry lingering on her face.

"I am **fine**, Glynda," he insisted.

From the other side of the path, a mocking cackle filled their ears. Glynda's head turned sharply as the man from the auditorium stepped around to join them.

"A dollar for every time you've said that, Ozzie, and you'd be rich enough to retire!" The man's tone was, like the rest of him, thin, reedy, and dripping with superiority.

"York," Ozpin said, already eager to see the man leave.

"Ozpin! How long has it been!?" the man called out, arms in the air.

"Mr. Duchy," Glynda jumped in, "why in the world are you here? I specifically asked you to wait for the Professor in his office!"

York stroked his needlepoint goatee and gave what he might've thought was a winning grin.

Glynda felt her skin crawl as his huge, whitened teeth revealed themselves. Feral had once described York Duchy's whole demeanor as 'in a need of an ass kicking.' Glynda Goodwitch had, for the first time in memory, agreed with him on something.

"Not to worry, Glynda," he threw his arm around the Headmaster's shoulder, "Thought me and this fellow ought to take a stroll around the alma mater before we started talking business." York's blue eyes sparkled as he glanced at Ozpin's cane.

"That is if we don't need to bust his walker out first! Right, Ozzie?" Ozpin stood stock still even as York slapped his shoulder and whinnied in laughter. He caught Glynda quietly bending her clipboard in her hands, making the wood whine.

"Dr. Goodwitch," Ozpin said, "I'll escort our guest around campus. Please, see to the students for now." His eyes carried the rest of his message to her.

_This'll be painful, but he'll drag this out even longer with you around. _

"Yeah," York said, "I'm sure there are some students around here somewhere that might need help tying their shoelaces or something."

"Duchy, do not talk to our students," Glynda snapped, "and don't bother anyone else, while you're at it." Glynda's heels clicked on the pavement as she made her way towards the main grounds of the campus.

"Well, fantastic to see you too," York called after her, "you so rarely hunt anymore, I feel like we're almost strangers by now!"

"York, why are you here?" Ozpin asked, growing increasingly frustrated. York ignored him and took exaggerated steps away before motioning for the Headmaster to follow him. Ozpin stared hard at him until Yorked stopped and turned to see Ozpin hadn't followed. He rolled his eyes.

"Geez, Ozzie. Thin-skinned as ever," the lanky man whined. The two walked on with Ozpin taking the lead this time. They passed shrubs cut immaculately into knee-high mazes and rose bushes lining the way toward age-old fountains.

"Damn Ozzie, you've kept this campus looking sharp," York said, "though I imagine a smaller campus is easier to care for then say… one the size of Haven." Ozpin admired the work of their grounds staff. Every carefully arranged posy and finely trimmed dwarf maple had a methodical eloquence.

"Perhaps," he said, "though it's a shame Haven can't utilize some of the native plants in Mistral. The Apple trees and Asphodel would look beautiful with your architecture." He smiled to himself as he overlooked the empty benches surrounding their tranquil man-made ponds.

"The students here love to study outside during the warmer months. And in winter, the snowball fights can become truly… what's that word they use? 'Epic'." York yawned and rolled his neck.

"Well, the Haven students need to focus more on their sparring and tracking skills. We're not moonlighting as some liberal arts school. Speaking of, have you seen what they're doing at Spotlight this semester? Abstract sculptures all over the place! Bard needs his head examined!" York's words disturbed Ozpin.

"What business did you have at Spotlight?" Beacon's sister school in South Vytali was having its orientation day as well.

"Scoping out the competition Ozzie," he chortled, "you know how it is this year." York's beady eyes shrunk with glee at Ozpin's confused stare.

"Don't you? Well gramercy me, Ozzie! The rumors are circulating all over that the Lodge is going to close a school. We're all on the chopping block now, old boy." York drew his hand across his neck and rolled his tongue out with a little 'bleh' noise before giving a snicker.

"I don't waste my time keeping up with idle rumors. No Headmaster should, not that you'd ever know that York." Ozpin glanced around his campus with fresh uncertainty.

He knew that insulting York, easy as it would be, was a waste of his valuable time, and rumors were still only rumors. But York knowing about it meant Headmaster Geat knew about it. And Headmaster Geat never acted unless she was certain.

"Rumors or not, here I am, and what's the harm of me stopping by for a trip down memory lane? Geat hardly needs me around, Ozzie. She's got the student body under her thumb. And if a student steps out of line" York clenched both his hands, smiling as he twisted them in a wringing motion "I grind em' back into shape, and she's satisfied."

York spotted a pair of first-years and smiled like a shark. They were both hoisting along a large, ornate steamer trunk by its ends, trudging along awkwardly before approaching the school's fountain of Orion to take a break. Ozpin could hear the gears in his brain spinning as he plotted to break them like horses. The thin Hunter gave Ozpin a conspiratorial wink and advanced on them. Ozpin's strangled his cane by its head before following along.

"Thanks again for the hand, Azeban! This thing is much lighter with your help!" the boy called out. The girl smiled big and wide, showing off her strength by using only one arm while inspecting the other.

"What are you kids doing out here!? You both should be in the Auditorium right now!" York said with a tone much meaner and louder than necessary. The boy, shocked by the sudden appearance of his peers, began to shift his trunk off his leg before his company let go of her end, nearly pinching the boy's toes. York smiled as he held up his palm and motioned for the boy to keep holding it.

"Hmm, looks like a bit more than you can handle, eh kiddo?" The man poked the boy in his arm. "Well, let the burn in your muscles be a lesson the next time you pack." The boy sighed loudly and rolled his right shoulder with a grimace.

"Slowing you down is he?" York asked while giving a studious smirk at the girl.

"Not at all, sir. We're getting along okay!" Azeban chirped. Ozpin smiled at the display, happy to see friendships forming amongst his students already. That boded well for the team selection tomorrow.

"No hurry? Well, with that kind of attitude, you've gone and missed the initiation speech! What a wonderful first step you've both started on!" He leaned to the side with his arms folded, watching for their reactions. Azeban winced at his words, smiling over her embarrassment, while the boy's face briefly filled with horror. Ozpin inserted himself between them, coming to the rescue.

"No need to worry. The speech is mostly a formality, you'll all be happy to know." Ozpin said, staring into York's face. Back down, his eyes said. He turned back to the kids. "Collect your things and head down this main path. Your class is already settling in for the night. Be sure to let our staff know if you don't already have something to sleep on. We can provide a sleeping bag for tonight." York scoffed quietly at what the headmaster had said, then stepped past the man and toward the two first-years, who backed up at his advance.

"Make no mistake, you two. Lagging behind like this will get you nowhere at Beacon Academy," His face darkened further, "and you, young man. Start learning the value of traveling light. Otherwise, you might find yourself six feet under." The two first-years looked between each other in bewilderment before the boy subtly rolled his eyes and the young lady dared a question.

"Um, sir? How would heavy luggage ever get us killed?" Ozpin pinched the bridge of his nose. The trap had just been sprung. York, without a moment's hesitation, leaned down to their height and stretched out a lanky arm and pointed far down the avenue of the campus, the two teens followed his finger with curious eyes.

"Let's say a Beowulf is barreling down this way at full speed from roughly 100 yards. You'd be in a hurry then, I wager. You'd stop to help him carry his luggage then?" A scowl began to form on the boy's face.

"I'd drop my trunk at that point, sir," he interjected proudly, "I wouldn't make her carry something so useless if a Beowulf was chasing us."

"Not that he'd even need to," Azeban added, grinning, "I can handle one measly Beowulf all by myself." She placed her fists on her hips and revealed gleaming, sharpened steel on her belt.

"What about two dozen?" York barked, raising his voice by a hair. She frowned and looked upwards in thought before giving him a sheepish grin.

"Well, I suppose I'd need help then, sir. Two dozen Beowulves chasing us? Why would anyone still be carrying a trunk at that point?" Her friendly snickering died down at York's stone face.

"One Grimm is no laughing matter, young lady. Several dozens of them would be much less funny, I think." The girl nodded and her ears folded back. The boy pursed his lips at York and came to her defense.

"Well I'd help her, sir," he said, "and again, I wouldn't want her to help me carry a steamer trunk in the middle of a Grimm attack. We aren't foolish."

"_Excuse me_, young man. Are you _making fun of me_?" York said with faux anger and shock mixed into his tone. The boy recoiled at the accusation.

"W-what? I mean, no! Not at all!" York was elated at the response but didn't let it show.

"I don't believe I ever asked you, son, if you considered my hypothetical up to your standards."

"I just meant-"

"Are you suggesting you're _smarter than me_, first-year? You already know what is and isn't a possibility on the battlefield? If I say a steamer trunk is a danger to you, then you'll learn to avoid them like the plague!" The boy was floundering now, not sure if digging in or backing down was the right answer. Wouldn't be long now, York predicted.

"I never said I was smarter than you, sir."

"Oh, I'm hearing things then? Is that it?"

The boy said nothing.

"Well, a trunk is too unbelievable, is it? Very well, young man. Let's try a hypothetical that's more intelligent, _more on your level_. Let's say it's you. You never properly considered the weight of your own gear when you prepped for your mission. Now you've been crippled, your legs are useless, and you're about as heavy as a steamer trunk" he scolded, leaning forward even more, "Following me so far, Freshman? How am I doing? Am I still making sense to you? You can't fight, and she can't fight them off alone. What now!?"

"I wouldn't leave him!" the girl called out from the side.

"**There** you are, young man! She won't leave you behind. She'll _risk her life_ defending you because of **your **mistake! Is that what you'd want her to do? She should throw away her chance to escape and drag you along like a steamer trunk?" The boy's face was a blank.

"No, sir. She should leave me behind in that case. I would fend for myself," he said evenly. Ozpin grimaced as he watched York smile and nod. The boy had given York exactly what he wanted.

"York," Ozpin called out, not bothering to hide his anger, "late or not, these two have to get to the ballroom, and I believe you were excited to discuss business of our own, correct?" York leaned out of the two first year's headspace but looked back to eye over his work. From a glance, he could tell the boy was removed of all spunk, with his back straight and nothing to say. He grinned again and patted the boy's shoulder twice before speaking, this time in a casual tone that made him sound like a completely different person.

"Hey, lighten up, kid! You've got your whole life ahead of you, after all!" Confusion filled the boy's face, which made York laugh. "Alright, Ozzie. Let's get back to it then." York walked away with a whistle on his lips and the Headmaster lagged behind a moment, hearing the girl hiss under her breath.

"Wow. What an _absolute ass_." Ozpin turned back to them and caught her gaze. Ozpin couldn't have agreed more after York's little episode, but he had a zero-tolerance policy for sassing peers at his academy: whether towards a Hunter like York or a member of the janitorial staff.

"He is your senior Hunter, young lady," he said unkindly. She gasped and apologized rapidly before trying to explain herself, but Ozpin wasn't fooled. She was only upset because she'd been heard. Ozpin shook his head and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he let out a sigh.

"We're all a bit worn down from our long trips here, and there is still much work to be done. All I ask is that you keep to your manners as you settle in." He turned to them with his full attention and watched them both more closely. "I'm sorry, I never asked your names."

"Azeban Quin," the girl said while biting her lip. The boy, who'd been glumly staring at his boots, suddenly stood at attention again and gave a crisp greeting.

"Hessian Crane, sir," he said. He hid his nervousness well, but Ozpin could still see the impact of York's words had made. He chided himself for not guiding York away from these two sooner. The damage was done, and doubt had been planted.

"C'mon, Ozzie!" York called. As Hessian looked to the voice, Azeban saw the shadow deepen on her Headmaster's face. She went to her new acquaintance's side and gave him reassuring words.

"Don't listen to that… _Senior Hunter_, Hessian. We'll be the best Hunters he's ever seen." She looked at Ozpin hopefully. He didn't nod or agree, but he did rest a hand on both of their shoulders before he spoke.

"There's a motto here at Beacon, Mr. Crane: 'Never alone.' Every student who's come through this academy has heard it more than once. Come the Grimm or heavy luggage, we don't abandon each other here, no exceptions." A smile came to Ozpin's face without his realizing and he took in the sight of the school. His school.

"Yes. Never alone," he repeated to himself.

"Ozzie!" York called again.

"I'll see you both tomorrow along with your peers. Ms. Quin. Mr. Crane."

"Goodbye, Headmaster Ozpin," Azeban said.

"Sir," Hessian inclined his head and gave a tiny smile. Ozpin walked to York's side like a man walking to his own hanging and was greeted with another one of his colleague's "jokes". He began to fantasize of all the ways he could cause York great suffering and get away with it. I deserve a medal if he survives the next hour.

"Done drying their tears for 'em?" he asked.

"That was wholly unnecessary, York!" Ozpin said, full of malice. "And I should remind you that Glynda expressly asked-"

"Aww, Ozzie! Don't you know charity work when you see it? I'm giving you a hand is all!" York smiled as he smashed a fist into his other open palm a few times, "Doing a little free discipline work for you. You won't see those kids late for anything after that, just you wait."

They continued towards the base of the main campus tower and stepped into the air-conditioned lobby before he responded. As soon as the door shut behind them, Ozpin spun on him, backed York into a corner, and let his control slip momentarily.

"York, what do you really want, honestly? I have plenty already on my plate, so either tell me why you're here or stop **wasting my time** and **harassing my students**." York gave him a coy smile.

"Maybe I came by to see an old friend, huh? How would you feel if I was only here to visit you?" Ozpin's face didn't change as he responded.

"Surprised," Ozpin ejected.

"Geat would like me to observe your team selection, Ozzie, and see if any students here are Haven material," York said, "and before you get all upset, she sent the request to you directly. Maybe the giantess didn't get it to you?" Glynda hadn't told him. Or maybe she had, and he'd forgotten. Ozpin used all his willpower to keep his face neutral and his voice from trembling with rage.

"That will not by any means be necessary, York. You can leave immediately if you think I'll…" York's smile dropped from his face and he rolled his eyes.

"I'm ain't asking, Ozpin," he snapped, then gave an exaggerated sigh. "Frankly, I'd rather be back at a real Hunter's Academy than scrounging around this place for halfway decent warriors. Geat gave me an order and I'm following it. Let's discuss this in your office, I'm sure you still keep some whiskey up there." Ozpin didn't know if it was York's attitude that fueled his anger or the fact that he was right.

"You won't be staying for the selection, York, or Huntsmaster Steadfast will hear about you so flippantly spreading a malicious rumor," Ozpin stated as the elevator shot up the tower's shaft at lightning speed. In the confined metal box, York's laugh was accompanied by the smell of his candied breath.

"Oz, Tin Steadfast will be pissed no matter what. But Huniq Geat will get him on her side because she's got the right idea. If one of the academies is closing, the students have to go somewhere. Haven is an option." Ozpin didn't like to think of his students going to the old citadel in Mistral. It was a school of hard knocks in a literal sense of the word.

"Hmm, is that Oz the Great and Terrible, stunned to silence at last?" York hummed as an electric ding sounded and the elevator doors sliding open. They stepped into a sparsely decorated office surrounded by glass panes that separated the furniture from giant moving gears.

The steady tick-tock of the great clock outside was a source of peace for the Headmaster and served to annoy unwanted guests. York paid it no mind as he brazenly rummaged through Ozpin's desk and withdrew a bottle of Atlas Cream.

"Terrible stuff." He grimaced after one pull but didn't put it down.

"It's meant to be mixed with coffee," Ozpin said flatly.

"Of course, got to keep up your appearances for the parents," York snorted, "what happened to you, Ozzie? I swear, ever since Mountain Glenn, it's like the curtain's been ripped down. Where you always such a damn softie?"

"York. Stop this. Now." Ozpin was reminded why he had the cane specially made from steel. Anything less would've crumpled in his grip long ago. The lanky man replied in a quiet coo that seemed to dare Ozpin to get angrier.

"Aww, sorry old boy. But you can't tell me what to do anymore, Ozpin," York sighed while shaking his head and took another swig.

Ozpin watched him sip his liquor away as he thought of the man in his memory whose shell was seated at his desk. Ozpin remembered a boy devoid of maliciousness that charmed teachers into giving him a B- instead of C. One who laughed with his friends while explaining every crazy change he'd make once he was Huntsmaster of the Lodge. He remembered when that boy had stammered, red-faced and nervous, as he asked Dot Gingham to the Vytal Dance, and how happy he'd been when she'd casually said yes.

He'd once had a friend called Yorkie. But repeated failures had turned that skinny and glib teenager into a cruel, rail-thin Hunter mooching on his whiskey.

"York, the friends we lost back at Glen. It changed all of us. It changed me, and it changed you too. Your jokes used to be funny." York didn't look back at his old friend. He kept his stare down on the bottle in his hand, pretending it was more interesting.

"Yea, well, you used to have a backbone. 'Oz the Great and Terrible'. Became a teacher because he was too good for the rest of us lesser mortals." There was a long silence where York waited for Ozpin to deny it or protest. Ozpin took a calm breath but otherwise stayed silent.

York finally turned to him. The man looked like he was somewhere between crying and pulling out a pistol. "Well, guess what, Headmaster Ozpin? Another Headmaster wants to take stock of your students in case this miserable school comes down around your ears."

"They don't need the added stress," Ozpin growled.

"I'll stick to the shadows. You have my word. I'll be on my best behavior." York spat back.

"You'll leave right after. No exceptions." Ozpin scowled and York returned with a hateful glare of his own. There was no hint of that twisted humor or mirth in his face.

"With a spring in my step, Ozzie. Too many bad memories on these manicured lawns of yours." He glanced through the window at a distant gray wasteland on the city's edge. "Too many friends who should be here, but aren't." A moment later, he wiped his face and walked past Ozpin with a sip of whiskey.

"I'll go sleep in one of your dorm rooms. Everyone knows you've got plenty of empty ones this year. Thanks for the drink, Ozzie."

Ozpin stood in the office as the elevator hummed down the tower and away from earshot. He let his cane clatter to the floor before reclining in his desk chair and getting a few fitful hours of sleep.

**xxx**

_**Editor Note:**_

_**All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	5. Approaching Dread

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

**xxx**

Marching across the wet grass of an abandoned forest was a massive, scornful creature. It paid no special attention to the slurping of wet mud around its hooves, or to the forest's branches scraping at its sides. Neither the earth below nor the trees above could make it stumble.

Its elk-shaped body held up a hideous head. Fangs of ranging sizes hid behind its lips and ivory plates armored its snout. Glimmers of moonlight made its orange-red eyes glow like a dying sunset.

Crowning its head was a rack of thick, fearsome antlers that spread out like a bird's flapping wings. Designs of bright red lines coursed like veins across its bony features, marking it as Grimm.

The miles it had crossed that day mattered little and less to it than the uncountable miles it traveled since it first formed. It did not grow weary or pay heed to the changing of day to night. Its life was a long march forward interrupted here and there by blood.

In the dark of the forest, it paused at a squarish stone of carved granite lying on its side. A swirl of memories churned in its mind of mankind and the houses they lived in, the structures they'd built, making Its nostrils work the air and its ears angle in search of noise. _Nothing. Nothing human for miles. Nothing. _The Grimm began to walk forward once again.

The beast hung its head beneath the weight of its jagged crown. All creatures went silent as it lumbered through the forest. Wolves and foxes crouched to the ground and scurried away in its wake. The birds sank into their nests to hide their eggs and even the lunar moths ceased to fly.

Behind it, a great slithering noise followed. The snake-like Grimm was larger than its Elder, but not nearly as old. Its mind was drawn to the antlered one's like a firefly to a campfire. In the trees above, much smaller minds, even younger, fluttered from branch to branch. All followed, awaiting direction, commands, blood.

The Elder Grimm eyes were focused forward on a blue light blinking through the leaves and shadows of the forest. As the sleepy monster drew closer, the sound of a steady buzzing became clear.

This Grimm was old enough to know the sound. It recalled finding many human creations where the buzzing was loud and unending. It knew of the sound's violent power and how the humans cherished it. It knew that because the Grimm knew that.

It came upon a clearing where man-made walls went for miles, ending at the base of a distant cliff. The walls fenced off a vast portion of forest, standing tall enough to halt even a Goliath. The Elder Grimm felt a familiar rush begin to flow through its body as it listened to the fence hum. _Humans are close. Or will be soon._

Nearby were a dozen young Grimm barking and snarling at the barrier. A youngling Beowolf held its snout to the steel wall's massive humming wires while making curious sniffs. It sank its jaw into one and was greeted with a starburst of blue light.

Hot and cold pains tore through its body in a flash. The wolf's jawline froze in place, letting a current of energy flow through him unobstructed. Once the wolfs' faceplate was blackened and its lips were cooked, another burst of sparks tossed it far away onto its side. The older Grimm watched the youngling squirm before dissolving into a black mist.

The Elder Grimm huffed at the structure and didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, it curled its neck downward, aimed the tips of its horns at the wall and rammed them against the wires.

Electric bolts arced between its antlers as they stretched the steel wires forward. White hot pain riveted throughout the beast's body. The monster felt rage build in its gullet as it took a single, slow step towards the agony.

The Beowolves, enraptured by the Elder's presence, watched as the creature pushed against mankind's lightning metals with all its might and being. Its vision disappeared in a fog of electric blue and all noise became the crackling of the Elder's horns as tongues of electric bolts degraded them.

The wires whined in their sockets and the steel frame holding them made a deep groan as it slowly folded beneath the monster's weight. The elder bore its teeth as it took another agonizing step forward.

Its roar could be faintly heard behind the deafening sounds of crackling bolts and tearing steel. The noise of its screams and steel bending blended together and grew higher and higher before they reached their crescendo in a series of sharp snaps.

The smoke settled to reveal the beast on the fence's opposite side. Electricity faded from the Elder Grimm's features, cueing its body to heal itself. The facsimiles of its nerve endings and bone structure folded back to the original shape, and the charcoaled portion of its antlers crumbled away. They swiftly reformed as bone-white spears atop its head.

Before it, the forest held its breath and all things living scattered. Behind it, the Tai Jitsu continued to act as escort, its body smearing away the massive Grimm's tracks as they went along together.

The Beowolves, now tempered and focused, fell in with the two while giving a few barks, forming a ghastly marching line together. They all followed the Elder into the deeper woods, where the faint smells and sights of humanity excited their violent minds.

…

Azeban laid awake in the ballroom for hours. Nightmares of red eyes in the dark of High Crimson had woken her hours ago and deterred her from falling back asleep. She instead stared out a nearby window at the sky, watching it fade from deep blue to the soft sapphire of dawn. The whole time, she'd been thinking about nothing but home.

It felt unfair. Last night she'd been excited beyond belief to get away. Now she couldn't help but miss the little things of her forest.

Azeban didn't regret coming to Beacon, but she didn't know how else to categorize the feeling in her gut. This early, she'd hear her mother's sandals squishing grass as she walked around camp checking the treads on the caterpillar cars and saying 'good morning' to the other families. The thought that she wouldn't hear that for months made her stomach churn.

She slipped from her sleeping bag and tip-toed over the snoozing bodies of her new classmates. Her eyes made the shadowy room bright enough to navigate without stepping on a single toe. She entered the locker room, shuddering at the cool tiles under her feet.

"52…54…53," she dialed the numbers into her new lock and pressed the latch up, then reached behind her duffle bag to retrieved her glaive with care.

Seeing her reflection in the blade made her smile. She thought about fighting Grimm without her grandmother hovering behind her for the first time.

Clasping the grip of her Dawnlander gave her a profound sense of courage. She scanned the locker room once before rising to her feet and assuming a battle stance. With a button press, the Dawnlander extended to its full length.

_Up! Left, Right! Down! _The blade followed her thoughts and never missed her imagined marks. She chanced a twirl, shortening the blade to clear the lockers and extending once more.

She let the blade kiss the surface of a body mirror bolted to a support pillar, but it left no mark. She smiled at her own accuracy. Azeban paused in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection, breathing evenly, eyes cold and determined.

A shaped moved in the mirror, just above her left shoulder, Azeban turned without thought. A screech ripped the air as her glaive dragged across the mirror's glass, leaving a thick scar. A girl with cropped blonde hair quickly threw her hands up as the blade stopped an inch from her chest.

"Easy, love," she said softly, her eyes flicking between Azeban's face and the sharp steel. Azeban stared at her speechless before she collapsed her weapon.

"That was so stupid of me! I'm so sorry about…" she tapered off at the smile coming to the girl's face.

"Sorry? That was wicked!" she whispered. "You made swinging that thing look easy as breathing!" Azeban's mouth hung slightly open for a second before it became an uncertain smile.

"Thank you," she said meekly, "I've been training with it for years and…I just thought that if I did a little practice I'd… um…I don't know." It felt silly and dangerous all the sudden, twirling her glaive around the locker room like a maniac.

"Get your head on straight?" The blonde girl offered with a grin, her bare feet clapped across the floor as she found her own locker. When Azeban peeked around the taller girl's side, she saw pieces of leather armor neatly arranged inside.

"I was thinking jus' the same thing," she confessed. "Me mum always said the Sabbatarians fight faster than we think!" Azeban's ears swiveled to catch the girl's accented slang.

"Saba-tare-ians?" She awkwardly mumbled.

The blonde girl, who had been stroking the dual-barrel of an enormous revolver, pulled the decorated hammer back and aimed for the ceiling, then squeezed the trigger. The clack of its empty cartridge was deafening, nearly as loud as an ordinary gunshot. When the noise bounced off the tiled walls and into her ears, it made Azeban jump.

"Sorry, love," she said with a shrug, "Xanthous Sabbatarian. Or just Xan, if you like. What's your name, ringtail?"

"Azeban," she said distantly, distracted by the fierce-looking gun. It was large and elaborate, almost the size of a horn, adorned by baroque engravings of leaves that coiled around its barrel and formed an artsy iron-sight.

Xanthous noted her fascination and struck a pose with it. Somehow, even as she stood in her pink pajamas, the brandishing of her mighty revolver struck Azeban with a deep sense of awe.

"Lemme introduce you. This lovely lady's a .50 Cal Helsing," she said with a sigh of affection. "Could rip the wing from a Nevermore mid-flight, provided your aim is on point. I've seen this little dove break a Gargoyle into pieces with seven shots."

Azeban eyed over the weapon briefly. The gun was large and scary but Azeban didn't think it was all that special.

"Gargoyle?" Azbean asked. Xan made a face like she'd spotted a filthy bug.

"Pug-nosed lil' bastards. They like to skulk around in old bell towers and smokestacks," she said, "which we got in spades back home in Foggy! Ever been, ringtail?" Azeban leaned against a locker, adopting a stance she thought looked relaxed and cool.

"No," Azeban said, "I grew up in...outside of Mistral. Grimm are all over the place there, but we don't use guns to fight them very often." Xanthous made a short cackle as she gestured toward the angry cut running sideways through the mirror.

"Yeah, so I gather," she laughed. "No offense, ringtail, but me mum always says guns are the future. A well-aimed hand cannon will take off a Grimm's head easier than any sword." The girl's philosophy made Azeban's eyes practically roll out of her head. Guns were sparsely used in High Crimson, often bringing more attention than they were worth. Bet my glaive has taken more Grimm than any of your guns.

"Your mom is a Hunter?" Azeban asked. She bit her lip and wagered that Foggy, wherever that was, was far enough away from Mistral to chance a little counter-bragging. "I come from a Hunter family too. Well, kind of."

"It's a lovely thing, taking over the family business," Xanthous spoke while she placed her Helsing back in the locker and slammed the door shut.

"I guess," Azeban said tenuously. "I mean, it was expected of me. Where I live, we all need..." Her voice suddenly caught in her throat as she remembered herself. "Uugh, I mean, we have a tradition of sending someone away to become a Hunter. Old family thing." The words stumbled from Azeban's mouth clumsily. Again, it was technically true. She begged that Xan wouldn't read into her stutter, or ask questions. Instead, the girl made a sympathetic grimace.

"Innit grand?" she sneered with a sarcastic voice. "Someone else telling you which way your future is?" The girl shook her head like a disappointed parent. Azeban began to try and tip-toe out of the conversation, but Xan gave a heavy sigh and spoke up again.

"I wanted to go to Haven, ringtail," she groaned, "but me mum insisted I come here instead." She made a cross-eyed face while mimicking a high pitched lecture. 'Beacon's where the Sabbatarians have always gone, Xan!' Apparently, that little tradition rules out any say I have."

"Beacon's a good school," Azeban offered in condolence. "My grandmother said so." Sequoia's words had been a good deal more contextual, but Azeban wasn't telling Xan that.

"Aye? She's the Huntress you're following then," Xan said, "she study here?" Azeban shook her head.

"No...at Haven actually," she said after a thought.

"See? Beacon's many things, but it's not as good as Haven!" Xan shot back. "Haven teaches you the fun stuff without making a group project out of it!"

Azeban didn't know how to counter that exactly. Her Grandmother hadn't ever said a good thing about Haven, but for reasons never fully explained.

There was disappointment there that her grandfather, when he was alive, had only hinted at once or twice. Pesgawan refused to undermine his wife's opinion or let it stand alone, but he was reluctant to tell the story himself. There'd been a night of terrible violence at the end of Sequoia's last year just after her graduation. Something that had to do with the Forced Migration. Whatever it was, it had soured her to the Hunters in general, and ever since, she'd lived in a separate world from them, and all of society for that matter.

"Well, it's a good thing, learning how to work with others. I mean, that's what real life is like." Azeban protested.

"Ugh. You should see the way they drag you down, though! I've had some bad partners before when I went to combat school back in Foggy. Ones who just cling to your heels and never pull their weight. It's criminal! And when you lose points over them…" Xan growled while clutching her hands like a freeloader's neck was between her palms.

"That's the final straw! No thanks, Ozpin. I work best alone," Xan declared. Azeban physically leaned away from the girl's wild outburst. She remembered something Hesh had told her about the school's history.

"Still," Azeban said, "they've been training Hunters here for three hundred years in this place. Isn't that worth something?"

"That means its old, ringtail, not that it's the best choice. This place has been turning into a dump for ages. Didn't you notice how few of us freshmen are here? What do you think that means?" Xan barely waited for a response. "It means the school is on the downturn! They probably won't even replace that mirror you just marked up. Because..." the girl checked her surroundings, then crept over to Azeban's side, leaning in for a whisper, "my mum says they'll be closing a school soon!"

Azeban held her breath.

"In fact, the word is there's a man from Haven here right now," Xan said, a bit excited, "scouting for talented young Hunters. Take my advice, ringtail, put on a good show at the exam today and get in his good graces." The words made Azeban feel a chill run down her neck.

_Could it be true? Is Beacon really on the brink? No. Come on, Azeban, how would she even know? Her mom's a hunter, sure, but grandma... well, grandma has barely spoken to the Hunters since she left..._

_Oh no. _

Xan noticed the girl's sudden pause and worried face.

"Hey, you know what? Who cares which school we're going to anyway, huh? We're already luckier than the stars, you know?" She said. Azeban looked back over to Xan with no effort to hide her confusion.

"What?" The girl smiled wide as she continued.

"See, way I figure, we could've been born to any pair of parents on Remnant, but we were born to Hunters. We grew up under them, and now here we are, learning how to be one of them." Xan began to stare into space as she paced like a caged lioness. Azeban started backing up on instinct.

"We'll spend all our lives on a whole other level than those **civilians**. While everyone else is frittering at some desk, we'll be rolling in glory and having our names written on walls! Nobody's felt a real thrill until they've killed a Grimm stone-dead. Hah, Spitfire! They haven't lived, really. None of 'em." Azeban's eyes went cold and Xan's smile shrank.

"I've known people who've died because of those monsters," Azeban said, "they aren't a game." Xan shrugged, twirling her Helsing on one finger.

"Hmm, 'spose not," she said with a touch of penance in her voice, then she grinned wide again, "but... that doesn't mean you can't have fun fighting them though, does it?" Azeban was about to enumerate just how wrong the girl was when a trickle of sleepy teenagers began to pour through the locker room doors.

"Guess everyone's waking up now," Xanthous sighed. The girl reached into her locker and unfurled a massive hat, brim wide enough to mask half her face. Her cocky grin peaked out from under it along with half her nose. "We'll have to continue this talk later, once this whole testing nonsense is done." She busied herself gathering up the armor and gear from her locker. "Let's just hope they throw something big at us, right? I'd love to see a Tai Jitsu for the first time!"

Xan stopped on her way to the door and spun around, pointing a couple of fingers at Azeban shaped like a gun and mimed out firing them at her. "Keep an eye open for me while we're out there! Great minds need to stick together, and all that." She gave Azeban a wink while shouldering the door open.

Azeban used the locker's door to hide her face, not bothering with an answer. Though she was glad their talk was finally over, the conversation replayed in her head, and Xan's final point began to grind her nerves thin.

Beacon was closing. Maybe. Or maybe Xan was an arrogant airhead who knew as much about that as she did fighting Grimm. The girl had seemed so detached from all of the things going on around her. She'd talked about schools, Hunter schools, like it mattered if you graduated from one or the other.

In High Crimson what mattered was if you fought at all. It was that or die. She grabbed her things and tried to storm off.

She nearly knocked a phone loose from a boy sitting down beside her, who gave her a frown before switching it on.

_You Up?_ The text bubble hovered on the screen of his Papyrus as a response came back. Rip gazed at the contact name above their last conversation: Roe. He began to type a follow up when a response cut him off.

_Are you?! _

Rip smiled and ran his thumb across the touch screen, the phone clicking softly as he keyed in his answer.

_Can't sleep. Miss you too much. 3_

_It hasn't even been a day, Rip. _Rip could imagine a pair of pretty green eyes rolling underneath soft tan eyebrows. He teased Roe further.

_Every minute away from you is like an eternity on a bleak, gray shore. Each rush of the sea wind whispering…"sup, boo?" _Rip took a seat on one of the wooden benches and crossed his legs, rereading his work as he waited for a response.

_You're a smartass._

_So you do admit that I am smart? ;) _Roe completely ignored him, but Rip could predict he'd made him smile anyway.

_You get a roommate yet?_

_No. They've got something cooked up for us today. Its weird. Ms Oakley (that's this teacher we met) told us she'd get us later this morning. We all had a big slumber party in the ballroom last night._ Rip flexed his toes and yawned.

_Is it, like, going to be dangerous or something?_ Rip saw the question and thought carefully. Lying to Roe always felt wrong, but he worried just as much what would happen if he simply said he was going to be fighting Grimm.

_It'll be fine, Roe. I got teachers watching me so closely, they may as well saddle up my ass. I'll text you right after._ Rip didn't bother to tell him that there were only two or three of those teachers that he'd seen so far.

_You doing ok?_ Rip stared at the text for a minute and typed in an answer.

_Its ritzy and everyone here has never met each other before how do you- _He deleted it and began again. _So far I know one dude from Atlas without really talking to him- _Delete.

_Fine._ He made the sound of a deflating balloon as he hit send.

_Rip…please give it a shot. It's not like you're in prison or anything. You can leave if you want. _Rip grumbled and typed without thinking.

_Tell that to Bolad Zi._

_And who would I say I was, exactly? Or did you finally say something about me, Mr. Ripper? _He flushed at the use of his pet name. Roe could bend any conversation around to make this tired point applicable.

_Nope nope nope. Not doing this rn. Focusing on today. A-hunting we go._ Rip grinned impishly. _Hey, I know what'll cheer you up. It'll take me a while to get to your house, wanna meet halfway in a motel again?_

Roe's reply followed quickly, without hesitation.

_I hate you so much._

Rip saw the words but took no offense. Roe loved to be flirted with, even when it derailed the conversation. It was a golden gun all his own.

_Hate with a passion, babe._

_Ok, this is getting ridiculous and I have work soon so I'll just say it. I got promoted. _Rip's eyebrows shot up as the news purified his thoughts of mischief.

He felt tempted to call, perhaps just to hear Roe's voice, but the amount of open ears around him was steadily increasing.

_Congrats, Roe. You deserve it. And here I always said Sequin was a frigid bitch._

_Oh she's totally still a frigid bitch but now I've been moved up to actually working the floor. I guess she realized most people can stand seeing a Faunus working in a boutique._

_That's my Roe, _Rip texted back, _erasing the social lines, making history. I can see the movie version of your biography already. I bet they'll write me out ;P_

_I wouldn't let them, Ripper. 3_

_My hero._ Rip stood up, feeling ready to take on the world.

_Chat later, babe. Gotta show these drips how your ripper goes to work. Good luck at the boutique. So proud of you._ A series of hearts were sent in reply before Rip set his phone aside and opened his locker.

He set about exchanging his pajamas for a purple long sleeved t-shirt, some loose fitting sweats, and his trusty red trainers. Around his exposed forearms and ankles, he carefully wound white boxing tape. Over both, he slipped on some scuffed pieces of black armor.

Then he slid on his fingerless gauntlets.

In Jia, an antique language, they spelled out the words Yihequan on the back of his hands. He watched light play across shining metal balls on each knuckled. Before Hunters walked the world, the monasteries in the Steppes trained rigorously in Dust-based combat to defend the world against the Grimm.

But they were gone, and he was a strange vision of their legacy, their lessons passed down to him by an old lady in her flower store just off Market Street.

He turned to the locker and put away his garments, then paused when he saw a small wooden box at the back he hadn't put there the day before.

Bolad Zi had visited sometime in the night. She must have. He took the box out of the locker and opened it. There was a folded bit of construction paper inside. He opened it.

A collage of signatures from the orphanage kids were above a picture of a skinny stick figure in purple, who was kicking a frowny-faced Beowulf. Violence shouldn't be this adorable, he thought.

Two notes stood out in neat, adult handwriting. Vert's was short and to the point. _Give 'em hell, Rip!_ Miriam's note was a much longer, predictably.

_I know how homesick you must be feeling, Rip, and I want you to know that if I seemed distant at the soup kitchen today, I'll burst into tears once the rush is over. _

Rip's smile shrank and guilt started to gnaw at him as the note continued. He wouldn't have noticed a bomb going off as he read her words.

_We all really pushed you towards this: me, Vert, and Bolad. I just want you to know that we're proud of you no matter what you choose. I know I'll worry about you at that school, I just won't be able to help myself, but there's no one in the world who'd make me feel safer than you. A Hunter with a heart like yours is what this world needs right now. If that's what you choose, we'll always support you. _

_\- Miriam Coal._

Rip folded the paper against his chest and looked into the box once more. A dried desert flower was fit snugly next to a familiar bundle of purple cloth. His training bandana had been left with Bolad at her shop. On it was a short yet comforting note.

_Forgive me for leaving this without a word, but you needed rest. I've taught you all I can in the time we had but you must learn much more without me. Keep your shoulders loose. _

No signature was given, or needed.

He picked up his bandana and gasped as four small vials unraveled themselves from the cloth. They were plexiglass containers for rounds of dust, made for reuse, one for each gauntlet. They had been inscribed with the Jia symbols for Thunder and Lightning.

He marveled at them. Never had he owned anything so pretty and new. Dust, particularly combat dust, was an expensive luxury he'd only ever seen through a display box. A few vials to start with would be a load off his mind, financially. To have them personalized was an expense beyond his imagining.

He slipped a leather belt with dust holders out of his locker and secured the glass vials into them carefully, then finished dressing by wrapping the bandana around his forehead and pulling it tight. He took a glance in the nearby mirror and smiled.

_Just give it a shot, _he thought to himself. He picked up his Papyrus and took a picture of himself, sending it to Roe without text to explain.

As he emerged from the locker room, he saw the rest of the first years rising, if not exactly shining, from their sleeping bags. He made his way back to the far corner of the room, beneath a large painting, and found Rhod was not alone. The large Atlasian was being chattered at by a girl Rip had seen from a distance yesterday.

"A'right," Rhod was rolling up his sleeping bag, "the oldies are hoora big an' scary, Ah get tha'. Yer tellin' me they're mair canny, as well?" The girl nodded, her short locks dancing around her chin. She had a tan and wide, green eyes that seemed to sparkle. She sat cross-legged, leaning forward eagerly as she responded.

"Smarter by default for sure," she said, "more dangerous with other Grimm around. I guess if another Elder showed up, they might get even smarter. But when there's a lot of Grimm in general, older or younger, they all act smarter come elder or not."

"In a pinch," Rip interjected, "just remember that they're the opposite of people." He threw Rhod a wink and was surprised, but pleased, to hear the girl snicker. Rhod looked up.

"Bloody stars, Rip. Hoora badarse!" Rhod's face split into a grin as he gave his companion a good slap on the back. Rip spun in place once, showing off his battle dress.

"Rhod told me all about your fight, Rip! How quick you were, like a flash of light! That was really something special of you, seeing someone in danger and just... y'know, acting! Like a real Huntsmen would! You haven't even done the test here yet, and you're acting like a Huntsmen would, and you didn't even know who he was, but you rescued him, and now you two..." the girl seemed to hum with excitement for a pause, "You're buddies!" she finally called out.

Rip frowned and held back a sarcastic remark. He never felt right turning the combat arts he'd learned on people. Then again, he hadn't told Rhod not to say anything. Best not make things weird.

"Barely a fight. But thanks anyway. Now, you know my name and the last fight I got into. I don't even know what to call you." The girl shot up to her feet and grabbed Rip's hand in an energetic handshake.

"Ohlone Falc, of Meander, Minami River, Mistral," she said all at once. Rip smiled and gently took his hand back.

"Rip, of East End, Vale City, Vale," he said, "what were you two talking about just now? Grimm?" Ohlone dove into a bright pink backpack that sat nearby and emerged with a paperback copy of Abominable Power: Modern Theories on the Grimm.

"Tamien -that's my older sister- got me this book when I was, like, twelve and I've read it probably a dozen times. I was telling Rhod about STCB, the Shared Tactical Communications Brainwave." Rip tried not to tell her to slow down.

"Uh, I thought you were talking about Pandemonium," Rip offered. Rhod made a noise of recognition.

"Ah! Pandemonium! Aye, tha' Ah ken. Big Grimm leads little Grimm. Aye, lass, Ah didnae ken ya meant that." Ohlone's smile didn't fall but Rip could see it become a tad more strained. She drummed her fingers on the book.

"Wellll," she said, "I mean, yeah, of course that's _one word_. Lupe Derryo didn't think it fit right. Here, I'll just read it to you." Rip was about to suggest, in the politest way possible, that he didn't want her to do that at all, but Ohlone was too quick. The page was vibrant with highlighters of every shade. She placed a finger on one block of pink and began to read.

"'Pandemonium has too often been simplified by the old-world perception of Grimm as animals enticed by sinful thoughts or feelings of grief. An Alpha or Elder, both equally problematic terms when discussing the Grimm, do not serve or take commands from a pack-leader in any distinguishable way. It is better to understand the Grimm as a single mind forming a great spiderweb of thoughts reaching across the globe, rather than a hundred smaller minds. If so-called 'Elders' or 'Alphas' hold any special distinction, it could simply be that they act as a sort of 'amplifier' of senses, heightening the horde's connection to their network of information. Their presence in larger groups of well-ordered Grimm are not, as many have thought for centuries, the cause of these formations but in fact a mere catalyst of their growth. Their destruction wreaks havoc amongst the Grimm but does not, as anything has to be observed capable, send them in the type of full breakdown most leaderless human armies might experience.'" Ohlone seemed to imbue every word with her imagined personality of the author. She closed the book and beamed at the two boys.

Rhod had been listening carefully but, as he wasn't sure what more he could add, merely nodded and gave a thumbs up before he resumed packing. Rip's eyes had wandered onto the tall painting behind Ohlone and when he realized she was staring at him he gave her a small smile.

"Awesome," he said, "I might just say Pandemonium though. Old habit from my teacher."

"Oh ok, who was your teacher?" Ohlone said.

"An old Huntress," he said, trying to avoid the conversation. Bolad Zi was a private woman and he wasn't used to this much prying himself. The look of awe that passed over Ohlone's face had him look for anything else to focus her on.

"Wow," she whispered, "you were trained by a real-life Huntress? No wonder you're so good!" Rip nodded and nearly winced when Rhod chimed in.

"Ah didnae know tha', Rip," he said, "must've killed hoora Grimm by now, aye?"

"Oh, boy, I bet he's killed a bunch!" Ohlone said. Rip shook his head, hands raised almost desperately.

"Guys, come on," he said, throwing in a laugh, "I haven't even seen a Grimm. My master hasn't fought one in years, I think." If Rip thought that would kill Ohlone's interest, her confused but no less curious face, made him think otherwise.

"Hang on," she said, "how can someone be a Huntress and not fight Grimm?" Rip's awkward embarrassment melted away in an instant, leaving only a steeliness that hardened his look.

"She's retired," he said, voice firm.

"I don't think Hunters can…" Ohlone began and found herself cut off by Rip's stare. The girl seemed to wilt like a flower.

"Sorry," Ohlone said, her voice small and contrite, "I shouldn't be so nosy. Or blather so much. Its a bad habit I have. I didn't mean to say anything... insulting. I'll leave you guys alone." The defeated, flat way she said it made Rip realize this was far from the first time the girl had said something like this. He suddenly felt like an ass.

"It's alright," Rip said, "just, I'm tired and cranky 'cause it's so early in the morning. My teacher was a Huntress. She got injured. She couldn't really hunt anymore so...y'know...she retired." Ohlone nodded, a little smile coming back to her face.

"I see," she said, "thanks for sharing that with me. Sorry, I meant to say I'm sorry she got hurt. But...wow, I still can't imagine being trained by a Huntress! I've read every book about them, not just the schlocky ones either -but those ones are great- I've also read the real stuff." She held out her book, looking dreamily at it. "They're basically the only thing from old legends that are true." She looked up at the painting. A blonde haired man in a green tabard lifted a giant horn to his lips.

She recognized the figure as if she were from Vale herself. Heime the Horn-Blower was, according to legend, one of three hundred heroes that fought at the side of Orion against Scorpio, an titanic sized Grimm. Heime's horn had drawn the beast into the desert valley where they jumped it. That valley would then be the very spot they'd build the Hunter's Lodge, and found the Huntsmen's Order.

"But...getting to train under a real Huntress...I...what's she like? Can I ask that? I've only, really, briefly met a Hunter before. I haven't killed Grimm either, but I see them sometimes on the outskirts of Meander where my sister worked. Whenever the Hunters came by, I'd always cry to my sister because I thought for sure they'd all die. The Grimm were so terrible to look at. I know, its silly, people have been killing Grimm forever. Hunters have been around forever. But...anytime our town could've been lost, there was always one who came when we called for help. They're amazing."

"Aye," said Rhod, rising to his full height, "Cordy Carpenter saved me town an' me friends. Most o'us. Not a nice fella, but a savior all the same."

"She is," Rip said, smiling. Ohone looked at him as if coming out of a daydream.

"Who?" she asked. Rip thought of the little woman in her flower shop.

"Bolad Zi," Rip said, "that's her name." Ohlone grinned and looked back up at the painting of Heime. She turned as if to ask another question when the great doors to Beacon's hallways opened inward. The three youngster turned and were surprised to find Glynda Goodwitch framed in the doorway, Oakley and Feral nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, everyone," she looked over the assembled children with a mild tenseness, "I see some of you are already dressed in your battle gear. That's good. Please, take your time packing up and dressing, then make your way over to Quartermaine Hall for breakfast. Otherwise, try to stay together here in the ball-room until we assemble you for the Selection Test." A ripple ran through the crowd at that, but Dr. Goodwitch said no more and left before anyone could ask a question.

"Ya figure," said Rhod, "tha' them two from the other day are busy?" Rip shook his head.

"I guess we'll find out, big guy," he said, "but maybe, for now, we focus on breakfast. Ohlone, you in?" The red-haired girl shook her head, smiling apologetically.

"I'll catch up with you guys. I need to get into my gear and limber up my arms a little," she shrugged, "and maybe do some practice shots with my bow before we launch. Plus, eating before stuff like this just makes me queasy. I'd throw up." She said this all in her usual rapid way and flushed scarlet after she realized all she'd said.

"I talk too much," she said, scurrying away quickly. Rip and Rhod, to avoid making things any worse, held back their laughter. Rip, squinting a little as the girl walked off, turned his attention to Rhod.

"Wait. Did she say... launch?"

...

"You know Oakley? Sometimes, I just want my day to go by without a hitch." Feral Greystoke rubbed the simple gold earring in his left lobe as he examined the remains of the perimeter fence.

"Then why the hell did you become a hunter?" she said. He didn't acknowledge her comeback, instead busying himself with checking their surroundings for tracks. Oakley watched him examine the scene before she spoke up again.

"How many is it, Feral?" she asked as she shifted her rifle atop her folded arms. The Hunter took another cursory glance over the prints in the bare, ripped up rearth. He saw telltale signs of Beowulf claws ripping through soil and Ursa paws squishing down the earth.

"A dozen beowolves. At least one Ursa. Maybe… five Borbatusk. But then, that's just on the surface. If enough Grimm have been trickling in through here…" he let the words dangle. Oakley tapped her boot heel on the ground rhythmically as she considered their options.

"But just one Tai-Jitsu, yeah?" Oakley scowled at the wide, deep rut that formed the base of the Grimm tracks that cut into the Emerald Forest. A great serpent was loose in their forest and had slithered gods-knew-where in the night. Thankfully, by the size of the tracks, it would be young. Dangerous, but not quite so dangerous as a fully grown King would be.

"Hell, if there were more than that, we'd know. Let's call this in," her look was calm but Feral had known her long enough to detect the trace of anxiety in it. Feral couldn't ignore the feeling in his gut either; the broken fence boded ill for the team selection that morning.

"Ozpin will need one tall cup of 'coffee' when he hears this," Oakley sighed. "Anything bigger than our baby snake? Anything at all?" She paced along the breach in the fence wire and squinted into the distance.

"Not that I can tell," Feral began, "it seems like it was just the little bastards. Though if you'd kindly not step there!" His words jumped into a shout as the tip of her boot tread into his line of sight, she offered him a sour look.

"We need a rain check on this selection, Feral," she said, "that is, if you really just can't figure out what could have gotten in…" Feral shot up, his fists clenched tight.

"Damnation, Oakley! You pacing and running your mouth won't help me figure anything out. Look, it's a Tai-Jistu. I know that. A big bastard like that could've taken the punishment to rip the fence and slither off. It's probably on its last leg if it did. Now stop pecking at me and call it in."

"It's not the only kind that could, Feral," she huffed. Feral shut his eyes and massaged his lids as he sighed heavily, waiting for the irritation to leave his system. Another pause of silence went by before Oakley's mouth reopened.

"And it's sending a chill up my spine, thinking what else might've done this," Oakley took in the fence once more, "if a herd of Beowolves bunched up against those wires they'd be barbecued in minutes. A Tai-jitsu, baby or not, that's a real monster." She set her rifle down butte first, keeping her left hand steady on the barrel. She needed a cigarette.

Oakley racked her brain for anything else powerful enough to shrug off an electric current and force its way through steel; none of the suspects were good. She scrounged through the pocket of her pants and withdrew a pack of Deadwood Specials.

Feral cocked his head at the sound of her tapping out a single cigarette against her thigh. He looked up in time to see her place it between her lips and hold a worn gold lighter to the end as she took a drag. Oakley sighed out the first puff of smoke and let her head fall back for a moment.

"Glynda would be pissed if she caught you smoking," Feral said and knelt back down to the plethora of Grimm tracks, his good eye carefully tracing every shape.

"You see her hiding in a bush somewhere, let me know." She inhaled in a long draw that decapitated her cigarette before she tapped ash onto the forest floor while paying no mind to Feral's tracking.

"Slippery little turd isn't going near the selection, Oakley," he said, "least he didn't take off that direction. Hear me?"

"Yes, Feral," she took a long drag and collected her thoughts, "I won't insult you by questioning how well you understand Grimm. So would you back me up if I tried to get Ozpin to call it off?"

"What?" he asked, half-listening. He followed ruts in an oak tree up past branches bent to their limit, some snapped off from tension. That made him frown. The Tai-Jitsu was long and wide but, unless it reared up, not much taller than five feet. The branches had to be at least nine feet off the ground.

"Feral, can you answer me," she snapped, "we should be together on this before we tell Ozpin."

Seeing Feral stare at the treetops, she rolled her eyes. "And by the way, I can see you're picking up a trail right now, so spit it out. What is it?"

"These branches have been bent back," Feral said pointing upwards.

"Your point is?" Oakley said around her cigarette.

"Bent. Not shredded or cracked off from force. You're the techie, the wires weren't cut up, were they? They were pulled outa there sockets." Oakley scanned the trees and felt the forest closing in on her all the sudden. The wires hadn't been cut, they'd been snapped like guitar strings tuned too tight.

"It didn't charge through or bite them loose," she said, "son of bitch just pushed against the fence until the wires snapped."

"Maybe our Tai-Jitsu friend got tangled, started flailing, pulled himself out." Feral said, "and the tree might just be strong wind, or at most, little bastards like the Imps we got infesting this place."

"But you're not convinced that happened, are you Feral?" Oakley asked. A sharp ringing caused them both to jump and deploy their favorite swears. Feral fumbled with his phone.

"Feral," Ozpin said, voice distant over the phone, "how bad is it?" Feral wasted no time in relaying the state of the fence. With every word, Ozpin gave no reply and made no sounds.

"Baby Tai-Jitsu. Maybe a thirty-five-footer. Busted up the fence and let in a few other nasties." Ozpin chewed on the numbers as Feral relayed them and said nothing for a while.

"Oz, Oakley thinks we should shut it down," his eyes flicked to her and after a moment he continued, "and I'm in agreement. If anything else slipped in and we don't know what it was, we can't guarantee a safe selection." On the other end, Glynda was staring into Ozpin's eyes asking if she'd just heard Feral correctly.

The man said nothing, imagining a snakelike grin on York's face as he leads away young Hunters from the campus. He imagined the face of their Guild master in the Scorpion Valley as the news was relayed to him; news that Beacon had the fewest students this year AND a compromise in security.

"Oz? Are you still there?" The sound finally snapped him loose and he began to murmur a reply.

"In that case, please secure the fence and sweep the forest for whatever it is."

Feral could imagine the screaming match if Oakley had called though he felt close to shouting at Ozpin himself.

"Headmaster, if it was only more Ursa or Beowolves out here I'd be with you," he ignored Oakley's furious look, "but this thing went right through the fence and now it's roaming our woods."

"I understand your concern Feral," Ozpin didn't raise his voice, but the irritation became pronounced in each syllable, "but circumstances are more complicated than normal this year." He inhaled deeply and continued. "You have a little over two hours before they launch. I trust you and Oakley's talent. You can follow the tracks and neutralize all and any threats."

"The baby snake, yeah, I wager we can but-" Ozpin spoke over him.

"Let Oakley know what I've told you and sort this out. Call me back if you have a guess as to where it is. We can proceed from there." Feral looked over to Oakley, who had wandered a few paces away to smoke in peace. Ozpin continued. "I don't have to tell you to keep this quiet, do I?" Feral placed his hand on a tree trunk and gripped it tight, cracking the bark with his considerable strength.

"We can't even give them a warning, Ozpin? They're going into this blind?" Whatever Ozpin would've said was canceled by a sharp whistle that rang from Oakley's lips.

A line of black shapes was emerging from the woods through the broken fence, crawling out to reveal themselves as Beowolves. Oakley grit her teeth, took aim and fired. The closest Grimm's head vanished in a burst of flame.

"Ozpin. Something's come up. We'll… call you back." Feral said, drawing a chain from his waist and readying the large hook at its end. Another target fell as Oakley's rifle barked again.

"Contain that too." Ozpin said. **Click.**

**xxx**

_**Editor Note:**_

_**All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	6. Test of Mettle

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

**ANNOUNCEMENT - ****To all our regular readers, we give our sincerest thanks for keeping up with HARQ thus far! Homer will be taking off next week while traveling out of state, so our next update won't be until 6/23/19. One other thing to note is that the first four chapters after the prologue, (H,A,R,Q) will be migrating out of this story and into their own separate story titled "HARQ: Trailers". We've received feedback saying these opening chapters are upsetting the story's pacing, and the two of us agree that putting them somewhere else will help the narrative move along faster for new readers. Changes will also be made to Chance Encounters and First Impressions to compensate for the loss of the 'trailer chapters', but these will be small changes that give information only new readers wouldn't know if they didn't read H-Q, so don't feel the need to re-read anything. Again, we thank you for reading thus far and will see you in two weeks!**

_**xxx**_

The cliffs reminded Hesh of home. Everything seemed to remind of home, suddenly. Around him, the other first-years were preparing themselves for the coming test. Some stretched their limbs while others took practice swings at the air. Hesh, as he looked out over the trees, had been swinging his right arm in wide arcs to loosen up his shoulder.

He tightened and untightened his belt anxiously. One minute he was worried it would fall around his ankles but then he'd nearly make himself sick by cinching it too much. No amount of pressure seemed to calm him, and for the moment he left it hanging a little loosely around his middle.

He managed to stop himself from rechecking his docker's clutch for the fourth time, where his pistol was holstered, or fussing with the combat knife sheathed on his right boot. Instead he focused on the trees.

The forest was no less impressive than it had been from the airship, but without a barrier of glass its presence was greater.

"See anything interesting?" his head turned to the voice. Azeban's grin displayed a pair of pronounced canines. Without her crimson shaw, Hesh could see how she managed to carry his trunk so easily.

Her arms were earthy brown bands of muscle squeezed by girded leather vambraces. Her loose pants had been traded in for a pair of red denims. She had a pair of weathered boots on with metal cleats strapped on them. On her torso, she wore a high-necked jerkin of soft maroon. A red wrap of cloth around her neck, bundled up tightly, stood out to him.

He hoped he didn't look too odd in his own gear. Gray boots, pants, and cuirass protected the young man's body, interrupted only by his shoulder guard, a stripe of dark blue going across his chest and resting by his neck. The Final Word's sheath broke the pattern with a startling splash of red.

"The trees are so thick," Hesh said, not sure what else to talk about, "I can barely see past the canopy."

"It's a beautiful forest," Azeban said, "not as big as...ones near where I live. But still nice. Plus, the trees are close together," Azeban added with a giddy grin, "so it'll be a cinch to move around the way I do." She tapped her cleats on the ground once for emphasis.

"It'll be all new stuff for me. Forests at the Salt Cliffs never get this dense," Hesh mumbled. "Everything is made of ugly little trees, bushes really, in swampy marshlands. Not a pretty sight." Azeban looked up and studied his face. He seemed to be looking further off than the forest, searching the horizon.

"You're homesick aren't you?" she said. Hesh kept his gaze fixed on the distance so she wouldn't catch his reaction. He needed to bury it all today if he was going into battle: the anxiety, the anger, and the specter of guilt that had hovered behind him since he'd boarded his train a night ago.

"I...yes, exactly right. I'm homesick," he said.

"It's normal to feel that way, Hessian," she went on, "I was just thinking to myself this morning that I miss the sound of my mom yawning. Isn't that strange?" She began to draw a redwood into a patch of dry dirt.

"Your mom's yawning?" Hesh asked.

"I mean, every morning she gets up earlier than me and the rest of my brothers to check in with the other families or get a head start on things. She always lets out this same great big yawn. Real loud at first, and it has three tones each time. Isn't that weird?" She moved her hair out of her face and imitated it for Hesh, but he didn't laugh. His focus remained fixed on nothing in particular.

"Yes," he said, quietly, "I suppose you're right." Hesh started to realize he _did _miss things like that. Around this time of the morning, he and his father -and Corvo, on some occasions- would be returning from an early morning ride on their horses along the Cliffs. The rainstorm last night would've cooled the coast considerably, making the wind feel pleasant as it blew past them.

"Anyway," she spoke as she finished her picture, "all I mean is that missing home is…well you get it. By the way, what do your parents do, Hesh?" He finally turned to face her.

"My mom works for the Lapidary Institute. She studies Dust-cutting techniques." Hesh smiled and puffed out his chest when Azeban looked satisfactorily interested. "You know the teardrop cut that most water Dust crystals are shaped by, of course?

Azeban, who'd never even _seen _a water Dust crystal teardrop or otherwise, nodded politely.

"My mother's team found that an inclusion added to the teardrop cut activates the gem in a very minute way. The gemstone fills with water without overflowing. A gem filled with the water. The way it catches light is breathtaking." Azeban tried to envision it.

"That makes it more useful in a fight?" she asked. She couldn't imagine how unless some Grimm were distracted by shiny objects. Hesh shook his head, smiling uncertainty.

"No, of course not," he said, "but it's taken the fashion world by storm. Or it did. That was a decade ago, obviously, some tastes have changed since then." Azeban, trying not to ponder how valuable a single water crystal might be to her whole family, tried to look impressed.

"Cool," she said, "so does your dad work with Dust as well?" Hesh frowned and briefly considered telling Azeban who his father was. She'd stuck up for him when Maya had insulted his father the day before, albeit unknowingly. Azeban's trusting demeanor made it hard to lie and Hesh was already bad at lying.

"He's…" he began, but was distracted by movement over Azeban's shoulder. Maya had walked to the cliff's edge a few yards away. She was dressed in the same black shirt and fatigues she wore the day before, orange gauntlets protected her hands. The short grip of an immense sword sheathed peeked over her shoulder. The girl surveyed the forest and caught sight of him for a moment. She scowled, then donned an orange half-helm painted like a jaguar and walked off.

"He's?" Azeban asked, not realizing what had distracted him. He wouldn't lie about his father's history with the war, but he still feared Azeban's reaction. So he told half of the truth and burned with shame inside.

"A soldier," Hesh finally said, "he fought in the war in Menagerie." Azeban didn't react at first, but the thought slowly made more and more sense to her.

"So...yesterday when that girl was ragging on those two generals...Wow. Sorry Hesh. I've never met a human who fought in the war. I mean, I still haven't, I guess, but…" Azeban fixed him with a careful look, void of any suspicion or disgust, but instead filled with a deep curiosity. She wondered if she could trust him with a secret.

"Hesh," she said, "do you know about a place called High Crimson?" Hesh thought for a long minute and then his eyes lit up.

"Oh! Yes. It's a redwood forest in Mistral. Correct? Why? Do you live near it?" Azeban realized as he spoke that she didn't want to tell him. He didn't know and maybe that would be for the best.

_What would I say even if he was fine with it? 'By the way, that means I won't be here next year, please don't tell anybody else'? _

"No," she said suddenly, "I'd only heard of it before and wondered if it was anything like this one. I grew up near a forest but not that one. Definitely not." Hesh, understandably, seemed a little confused. Then he shrugged, looking abashed.

"Oh," he said, trying to be kind, "well, I've never been there before. I wouldn't know. Sorry, I'm not any help with Mistralese forests."

_You're a bad person, Azeban Quinn. A bad, bad, bad person! _She glanced at her little drawing in the dirt and knelt down to erase it. An idea popped into her head. She could share something with him, if not everything.

"Lean forward," she commanded. He squinted at her but obeyed and presented the length of his brown hair to her. She noted the pristine, classy nature of his haircut before sprinkling some dirt on his scalp.

"Hey!" he whined, shooting up and rubbing his hand through his hair. Azeban laughed and showered her own black hair with the rest of the dirt and shook clouds of it from her head like a dog. Hesh looked at her like she was insane.

"Its good luck," she promised, "my grandmother...told me Hunters did it before going into the wilderness. She said it was about humility and, well, something else I don't remember." Hesh wiped dusty grains of dried mud from his forehead and pretended to be endeared. A girl in a black coat splashed with red whistled at them from nearby. Azeban whispered a swear that Hesh didn't hear.

"Hey, ringtail!" the girl hollered through her cupped hands and drawing more attention than what was at all necessary, "Keep score! We'll see who's the best Huntress!" Azeban gave her a thumbs-up and smiled, dropping it as the girl went by.

"Friend of yours?" Hesh asked.

"No."

...

Headmaster Ozpin and Doctor Goodwitch took the attention of all assembled. The Headmaster looked thin in the face. Glynda had forced him to don sunglasses to hide the bags under his eyes.

"Everyone, please take your places on the marked pads," Ozpin said, "I have a few words to say before the selection begins."

"Yes, of course! Gather round kids. This is a day to celebrate!" Glynda looked over her shoulder. York Duchy was dressed in a white suit with an obnoxious pink shirt, his hair petrified by gel that made it almost sparkle.

Between his smirking lips was a large cigar, the same one she'd ordered him to put out when he first arrived. It took all the personal discipline she'd learned teaching children over the years to not flick her wrist and send him soaring off the cliff.

"Hunter Duchy," she said evenly, "I'll remind you that there's no smoking on campus." York slid the cigar between his teeth and puffed like a steam engine. He ambled up to the cliff's edge to stare down into the forest below.

Years of acting as a spotter for his team hadn't left him yet, and with a few moments of concentration, he found the rustling trees and flocking birds that marked moving Grimm. A roar echoed over the treetops until it reached the cliff as a soft murmur. York croaked a laugh around his stogie.

"Well, Dust and damnation," he said, "glad to see you're still making them fight real Grimm!"

"York if you don't put that out this minute-" Glynda coughed as he blew smoke straight into her face. He grinned with tobacco stained teeth and cast his eyes on the crop of new Hunters once more.

"You'll give me detention, Ms. Goodwitch? Make me write lines on a chalkboard?" His laugh was cut off as the cigar was ripped from his mouth by an unseen force.

It hovered in the air next to Goodwitch's face as she raised an eyebrow at him, then imploded into a ball of burning paper and soared over the edge of the cliff. Goodwitch removed her glasses to clean them of any residue from his smoke.

"We have zero tolerance for smoking on this campus, York." She carefully placed her glasses on and looked down her nose at him. "Interrupt this selection at your own peril," she said, and turned on her heel to the join the Headmaster standing before his students.

"What in the world would the Hunters do without you, miss Goodwitch!" York shouted after her. His face became pinched. He glanced back at the students and noticed many heads whipping away from his face in quick succession.

Geat wanted the low-down on any valuable additions to Haven in case the year ended outside Beacon's favor, but York wasn't impressed by anyone yet and the thought of going back empty handed was starting to make him grumpy. He shooed the on-looking children off with a few gestures of the hand and began fishing into his pocket for another cigar as he stormed off in search of a place to smoke.

"Students," Ozpin said, steadying himself on his cane, "you have each spent years honing your skills to become effective warriors. While each of you performed admirably at the entrance exam, or provided recommendations speaking to your skill, now is your chance to display how you can utilize your abilities in a live combat environment." A few students shuffled their feet or shared uneasy looks.

Rhod rested his hammer on his shoulder, standing a head taller than his peers and feeling a little foolish in all his repurposed mining gear. These were warriors he stood with, not bumpkins with thick arms and a lucky streak. He refused to let his feelings show, determined not to let anyone try and talk him down like those White Fang arses.

He noticed Ohlone, armored in a leather tunic, sturdy sandals, and archer's gloves that made her look like a folkloric marksman. She had a large compound bow on her back, and a small necklace of shells around her neck. She caught him sizing her up and waved at him with rapid rapidly, a big grin on her face. He smiled back and gave her a nod.

Rhod's face was placid but underneath slabs of armor and muscle, his heart was beating faster and faster. The moment of truth was nearly here. Glynda had taken the speech.

"You've each been given a flare gun by this time, loaded with a single red flare. Please remember that firing it at any point before reaching your objective will be considered an automatic mark of ineligibility." Her stare intensified as she began making eye contact with every student she passed. "I'll also remind you all that _your own lives_ are more valuable than any graded test. We cannot intervene with whatever happens to you once you enter the forest. Be aware of your limits. There will **always be next year**."

Hessian stare hardened as Glynda looked him over. He clutched his sword tight by his side. Thoughts of his father floated through his mind, then of Corvo packing his things and walking out of the Crane estate without a word to anyone. Glynda was well-meaning, but he'd come too far to wait another year. It was today or never.

"Regarding the point of this selection," Glynda continued, "at Beacon, our tradition for centuries has involved the formation of teams consisting of four apprentices. These four are grouped together from a pair of partners. Each group is led by a student chosen by the faculty based on their performance today." Azeban heard Xan hawk and spit from down the line. Glynda paused to make note of Xan's face.

"...You aren't meant to know the credentials we grade you on, so work to succeed in your objective in whatever way feels natural to you."

"Partners are chosen differently," Ozpin interjected as he prepared for the annual reactions to his next words, "simply put, the first student you make eye contact with in the Emerald Forest will be your partner for the next four years." The silence was finally broken by hushed exclamations. Azeban subdued her reaction, her toes curling in their boots as she held her breath. _That's how they determine partners?!_

"This," Glynda spoke louder to quell the chatter, "is a method that all alumni have undergone and flourished through. It is in keeping with the oldest traditions of the Hunter order, which encourages the cohesion of different warriors through prolonged combat experience."

_Oakley and Feral should be here, _she thought, not for the first time. She'd had hoped, after the kids launched, to broach the subject with Ozpin, but York had stuck himself into things. The Tai-jitsu was being tracked and cornered as they spoke, but even a moment's difference could spell disaster for the whole selection.

"Moving onto the selection itself," Ozpin said, "your objective is a small collection of ruins at the north end of the forest." His mouth went dry as he calculated the distance between the fence breach and the ruins once more. He'd been telling himself all morning that the distance was great enough, that the tracks weren't pointing towards the ruins anyway, that if it did end up there, his instructors would kill it before any apprentices arrived.

Merely thinking about it made his fingers twitch to check his phone, imaging it was vibrating in his pocket every time he moved his leg. His Hunters had not encountered the monster yet. He refused to consider the possibility that they had met the beast and somehow lost to it.

"Oz," Glynda whispered. The students hadn't quite caught on that something was wrong with their headmaster so he tried to make his voice seem dramatic as he continued.

"This will be a perilous test. You will need to meet every obstacle with your full attention or you.." the words were ingrained in his mind from repetition over the years but he faltered on them this time.

"… will die." There was a pregnant pause as the thought, fleeting and unavoidable, crossed his mind to call the whole thing off. He very nearly did. After they launched, there'd be no going back. As the words to send them all back indoors waited on the tip of his tongue, he saw York in the corner of his eye, glancing around impatiently, awaiting the sound of launchpads loading up.

"Hunt well," Ozpin finally said. Glynda quickly explained the trigger mechanisms they'd be launching from while Ozpin took the opportunity to walk away, getting out of sight from the students while maintaining a posture and stride that looked unsuspicious.

He took out his Scroll and called Oakley.

"We've almost got 'er," she said with the slightest hitch in her voice.

"Where?" He should've called first. He should've waited a few extra minutes in case.

"Near the old Eldritch house," she said. The old house was in the south western corner of the woods, nearly exactly the opposite end of the ruins. Ozpin could feel himself turning a little lighter.

"Excellent. Any estimate? The students are launching as we speak, if we can finish this before they get underway, all the better." Oakley grunted in either effort or anger.

"We're trying, Oz. This critter had all night to cross the forest and we've had to scrap with a few of its friends. Mostly some Imps and Beowulves that got separated from the pack. The others might've spread out, so keep your eyes peeled in the camera room. " The headmaster sighed and stared out at the treetops in the distance, searching for signs of life as York had.

"You've done well, as expected. I know you and Feral can handle this. Be careful."

"Well, it's not us you should be worried about!" Oakley's exhaustion was evident but she appealed once more to Ozpin's sense of duty.

"Oz, you can _still stop this_. To hell with whatever York will tell the Huntmaster!" she pleaded. "If something goes wrong out here… you won't forgive yourself. None of us will."

He thought of burning tenements and a sky black with columns of smoke. His cane clattered to the sidewalk as he felt sick suddenly. He remembered the sight of Grimm pouring out of a subway. Oz 'the Great and Terrible' hadn't turned away from the monsters when Mountain Glenn went to hell. He collected himself.

"This was exactly what they signed up to do. Kill Grimm. To hunt them and in turn be hunted." Ozpin sounded cold as he spoke, but in his mind, he was thinking of each of them. All thirty-six. He still wrote the acceptance letters by hand, because he believed they were worth the cramp it put in his hand.

They deserved a reception much better than the one he'd given them yesterday. They were going to learn that Hunters have the hardest lives of anyone in the world, and he wouldn't shelter them. They at least deserved his respect, if not his protection.

When this selection was over, he'd make this the best damn school they'd ever attended. He heard a staggered chorus of gas propulsion release as the students were launched into the heart of the Emerald Forest.

_Ah, _a part of him said, _and now all you have is your hindsight, Sage. All you have is what could've been done. _

"Oakley," he said, "we owe them our best effort. I will not let them think they came all this way to learn that a school of Hunters grinds to a halt at the first sign of trouble. Adapting to dangerous circumstance is the most important lesson this school teaches."

"Right. Here was me thinking it was 'Hunter never fight alone'. We'll get 'em, Headmaster." She hung up before Ozpin could respond. The headmaster took a deep breath before taking his place next to Glynda.

"They all seemed to land safely. More or less." Glynda faced the Emerald Forest and kept herself collected as Ozpin stood next to her in silence.

"Is York with you?" she hissed.

"Not presently," Ozpin replied after a moment. She searched him, but the sunglasses hid his eyes from her as much as the students.

"I won't bother asking if they caught it," she said, "I'll simply reiterate my question form earlier. Is there a chance that there's anything else wandering the woods? Even a slight hint of something equally as dangerous? Because we'll need our best Huntsmen down there if they missed something."

"They're down there already, Glynda, two of our best. We'll send more as the situation demands." Ozpin didn't look at her as he spoke. For a decade, they had been fighting together to keep Beacon's doors open, and he'd begun to suspect she was, at this point, the only friend he had left who didn't despise him. He was worried what he might find if he looked her in the eyes.

"Another year, another gathering of hopefuls we throw to the wolves," Glynda said while watching the birds scatter from disturbed treetops. Ozpin adjusted the glasses on his nose to press more closely to his face as they departed for the observation room in the CCTS tower. He responded to Glynda, but still refused to look at her.

"Best of luck to them all."

…

Azeban smiled wide as the forest below came closer to her at a gentle crawl. She was not falling but gliding downward lazily like an autumn leaf. She had been making these kinds of descents to the ground since the day she'd slipped from the top of a High Crimson redwood tree and discovered her graceful powers.

Her mother told her how 'floating' was an ability born from the soul; the city people called them semblances nowadays, but every kingdom had once called them something different.

Learning that she was not the first in the family to float had disappointed her at first, but it later only encouraged her to practice the power until her skills with it were remarkable.

While gliding downward, she found a perfect hole in the canopy to enter through and made herself a tad heavier as she aimed her legs for a landing. They planted on the higher branches of an oak tree and Azeban sighed with satisfaction as she breathed in the grass and leaf scent of the wilderness.

She could tell from her perch that the ruins were a far way north from where she clung to the treetop, but instead of moving forward she turned to the east and leaped for the nearest branches. Hesh had been tossed somewhere east from where she'd landed.

She leaped from branch to branch with practiced hops and skips, taking big leaps to bridge canopies too wide to bother circling. It was relaxing to move like this, keeping her focused on things other than her thoughts. She had determined to find Hessian and partner with him before he had a chance to find anyone else.

She knew him best and he had a kind disposition that made it easy to be around him. She didn't like the idea of making too many more friends before having to leave. If it were only Hessian, it would be easier. Hopefully.

But while leaping and bounding across the forest ceiling, she wondered if that was fair. Hessian would need a new partner if she left next year, and who could say how easy it was to get a new one? Surely they wouldn't abandon Hessian if he lost his partner, they'd certainly have some other way for him to graduate… but what that contingency plan could be escaped her. There would be no extra students once this test grouped everyone together. The feeling of the sun on her back began to burn a little hotter.

He'd be down a partner, and on a three-person team, because she'd needed someone to do homework with? Someone who wouldn't give her too much fuss while they did assignments? He'd seemed so determined to come to Beacon up until then. How could she stomach herself if she was knowingly sabotaging him like that? How could she throw _anyone _under the bus like that?

Her stray thoughts were interrupted by something hard and smooth that smacked the bridge of her nose as she made another wide leap. She caught a branch and perched herself on it, taking a minute to pinch her nose.

Ouch.

Looking around for the culprit, she noticed dangling up above her was a recognizable shape that glistened with a recognizable shade of red.

It was Hesh's sword, minus its wielder. The beautiful sheathe was unmistakable even while tangled in a branch, the white feather tassel wound around the top serving as a dead giveaway. The whole belt must've slipped right off him as he flew.

"Oh, poor Hesh" she giggled, "I hope he doesn't get too worked up about it." She mused briefly on how silly her brothers often looked when they'd fallen through the canopies back home; their clothes decorated with leaves and confused bugs all glued to their bodies by sap. As the blade came loose from the treetops grip, she nearly dropped it when her ears filled with a growl thundering from off in the far distance.

The sound was new to her, not like any Grimm calls she'd heard in High Crimson. As the echo of the roar faded, the forest refilled itself with its natural ambient noises. Azeban then realized something. Hesh was nowhere near, but she was holding the Final Word. That meant the boy was running around among Grimm without a sword to support him.

"Let's get you to where you can do some good," she whispered to the blade. A length of climbing weed made for a decent strap that kept the sword secured across her back. She crept out to examine the trees nearby for broken twigs that could serve as a trail from Hesh's fall to the earth.

Another roar resounded nearby, this one much more familiar. An Ursa Major, she could wager. It was quickly followed by the ring of gunshots. _Hesh has a gun_ she thought. Azeban leaped down to the lower branches and found her rhythm again going from tree to tree, pausing to listen for the row.

The gunfight was happening right below her now, and she could hear an Ursa's furious huffs as claws scraped the dirt and the gunshots stayed at a distance. Listening closely, she heard a warlike whooping that didn't resemble Hesh's voice. A bullet suddenly whizzed through the tree tops and nearly caught the tip of her right ear, causing her to yelp from surprise.

_Whoever they are, their aim could use work. _She leaped off the stiffest part of her branch and shot out into the battle. Staring down below, she found the white spine and black fur of a snarling beast.

She became light as a feather while unsheathing Dawnlander from her belt. Once out and at full length, she aimed the pike-end toward the Ursa's back. The fray continued as she readied herself by clamping the shaft between her legs. She awaited the moment when a soft portion of flesh stood out. When the time was right, she released her semblance and began to fall at full speed.

Dawnlander landed on its mark before she did, sinking deep into the creature's back until it was lodged as firm as a flagpole in the earth. The Grimm erupted in an agonized wail before it reared backward in a powerful motion that nearly bucked Azeban loose from her weapon. She grappled onto Dawnlander as the beast began to flail its monstrous claws around in a desperate frenzy.

"Whoo Hoo! Got 'em now, ringtail!" Called a raucous voice followed by wild gunfire. Azeban could tell from the first word shouted that she'd run into Xan, and the thought made a portion of her will to fight shrivel. She nonetheless turned a touch lighter to more easily cling to her weapon as she struggled to lurch it free.

As the beast threw its weight side to side, the debris of tree trunks being slashed by its claws flew in Azeban's face and made her grip weaker. Before she fully lost ahold of her weapon, a pair of gunshots went off and the Ura's muscles beneath her heels suddenly went lax.

She felt the beast begin to fall backward and quickly leaped away from being squashed beneath its back. It tumbled to the ground and began to liquefy into a puddle of black ooze that reeked something foul. While collecting her weapon from the sizzling pile of mush, Azeban heard a pair of heavy boots squish the grass and goo as they swaggered up to her.

"Well, thanks for the assist, you cheeky ace! Unnecessary as it was..." Azeban's felt her soul frown as she heard the smirk already on the girls face. She clenched her teeth and tried not to scream in frustration. Then a light flicked on in her brain. _We haven't locked eye! Its doesn't count! _The thought was cut short when a big grin appeared in front of her. She punched Azeban's shoulder, making the girl want to gouge her own eyes out.

"No problem, Xan," she forced out through her teeth, "are you alright?" The blonde gunslinger quirked a smile at her. She rested her hands on an ox leather belt and tipped her massive hat upward with the barrel of her revolver.

"That was nothing, Ringtail. Slow and dumb, that's how the Younger Brother made Ursa. Glad I've _finally_ met someone who knows a thing or two about fighting out here though," she growled while glaring at a row of rustling bushes. "Though not soon enough."

"You already have a partner!" Azeban shouted with glee before looking away from Xan's apologetic gaze.

"Sad but true," Xan mumbled. "Hey, pretty boy, get out here! The Grimm is dead, as is any chance of you earning my respect." Azeban's ear twitched at the sound of metal clanking.

Crawling out from the bushes was a block of steel armor that formed the set of a Mistral soldier straight from a history text. The boy inside was rubbing his armored fingers at a bushel of tangleweed that was entwined within the crannies of his armor plates, snaring him to a nearby tree.

"Oh, wonderful. I bet your ancestors are just beaming with pride right now," Xan said as she rolled her eyes. The figure in armor began to turn his head in random directions as he searched his surroundings.

"You found someone else?" a voice echoed from behind his helmet's visor. "Whoever you are, could you please help? I can't get this helmet off." Azeban approached and knelt down to get a better look. The boy peeked out of the helmet's slits with an apologetic look in his eyes.

Azeban grabbed his helmet by the edge of its cheek plate and lifted it carefully.

Wavy wheat locks crowned a face that fit Xan's nickname to the point. He certainly was very pretty, making Azeban's cheeks darken subtly. He had the look of a classical statue from Arche's historic quarter, but something about his eyes bespoke a more fragile nature, as if that statue was made of porcelain instead of marble.

"Thanks." He said the words like an apology before turning to glare at Xan. "_She's _been no help at all."

"Look who's talking," Xan moaned in annoyance, "I haven't seen you do anything but hide behind that shield of yours all morning!" The boy gasped and dove back into the bushes, leaving Azeban with his crest to admire the fine craftsmanship of the helmet.

"You're Mistralese too, aren't you?" Azeban asked. The boy stood up with a large shield of banded bronze and posed like he was ready to give a victory speech.

"Yes!" he blushed and cleared his throat, "Yes, I am. Perseus Bronze. Thank you for helping us with that Ursa." Xan gave a bark of a laugh.

"'Us'? How'd you contribute to all that, pretty boy?" The thought made her smile. "Tell me, were you getting tangled in weeds to lower its guard? Or wear it down with second-hand embarrassment?" Xan laughed by herself as she began to reload her guns. Perseus gave Azeban a look of suffering.

"I've got an Uncle just like her," he said quietly, "laughs at his own jokes and everything." Azeban nodded and scuffed the ground, unsure of how to respond. She handed him his helmet back, noting that the whole of his armor set was hanging loose on his scrawny frame.

"Try not to let her get to you," she whispered, "my name is Azeban Quinn. Are you Xan's partner?" A flood of relief came when he nodded, looking abjectly miserable.

"Unless…hey, Xanthus, how about we trade partners?" Azeban's tail went rigid and she held herself back from decking the boy out of sheer terror.

"Brilliant, pretty boy. Toss me to the wolves and weigh her down with you. And stop with the 'Xanthus' crap, aye? It's Xan. You sound like me dad." Azeban could have laughed with joy.

"I meant you and her could be partners. It doesn't matter to me who I end up with, I just don't want to be **your **partner. Besides, you two are friends already, right Xanthus?"

_This is a nightmare, _Azeban bargained, _I got knocked out fighting the Ursa and this is a bad dream I'm having._

"Now, you call me 'Xanthus' again and see how I get when I'm pissesd! And stow the talk of trading partners. Tempting as that sounds," Xan said, "me answer is still 'no'. Rules are rules, pretty boy, we're stuck with each other. For now, at least. Or were you hiding when Ozpin told us all that as well?"

"All you've done since I met you is complain about how this school works!" Perseus shouted. Azeban resisted any inkling to voice her agreement, as things were finally working out for her.

"When I wasn't busy downing your share of Grimm while you hid in a bush, pretty boy," Xan said as she scoped out a new path through the trees, "and ringtail here could tell you that I've got my eyes on a new academy come the year's end. I won't risk my chances of getting in because I couldn't toe the line for a few months." Xan gestured her way and whistled sharply. Perseus began to follow her with a suffering look on his face. He placed his helmet over his hair and fixed it so he could see.

"Nice meeting you anyway, Azeban," he said glumly. Xan spun around as she entered the woods, long tangleweed vines brushing her shoulders as she backpedaled. Azeban watched the weeds sway, squinting. Some seemed to be moving unnaturally.

"See ya around, ringtail," Xan called back with her old sense of joyfulness, "and make sure you keep score. I'm already at-" her words were transformed into a hacking cry as a bristly black vine snapped around her throat and constricted her windpipe. Another restrained her arm and they both began to wrench her up off the ground. Azeban froze in place and watched as Xan's brave blue eyes dart around in confused fear.

The brazen girl grew silent as she ascended past the branches. She looked meek and limp now, like a tangled marionette being removed by a hurried puppeteer. Azeban was shaken from her trance by the sound of Perseus shouting in terror.

"Up there!" He called as he pointed to a tree branch above. Azeban's sharp eyes landed on a gathering of black bodies crouching together high up above them. A pair of telltale faceplates bobbed as the Grimm chattered to each other, their bodies shaped like little tree primates, baring their fangs in high pitched shrieks. Two dangled its tail down like a pair of fishing lines as two others used their tiny, rat-like hands to pull them up, reeling Xan in toward the treetops. She was dangling far off the ground now, moving less and less.

Azeban's Dawnlander gleamed in the daylight as she raced across the forest floor with its curved blade aimed at the monkey Grimm's tail.

"W-wait, Azeban!" Perseus' words missed her as she leaped into the air and spun. The blade sliced Xan loose from her captors and she fell to the ground like a ton of bricks.

The duo of monkey shaped Grimm she'd mutilated cackled at her while bounding off from tree to tree. Azeban exhaled with a sense of relief that disappeared when she looked down at Xan. The tails on her arm and throat were only growing tighter.

"They're Imps!" Perseus cried. "The tails don't vanish if you cut them off!" Xan's off hand moved to her Helsing, but the tails wrapping around her shrank a size smaller as they continued to stretch their ends farther apart. Her face started turning an alarming shade of red. Azeban began to feel nauseous.

Trying to move quickly, Azeban took her Dawnlander's blade and shrunk the pole into a manageable grip before pressing the sharpened curve of her blade against the coil of tails. Xan could feel Azeban begin to push into the mess of black vine and the feeling was like being slowly done away with at a dull-bladed guillotine.

She tried to shake her head no, but without the room or strength to do so she looked like she was simply writhing in pain. Perseus reached a hand out in a flash and clutched Azeban's shoulder, pushing it away.

"It's too dangerous! You could cut straight through her neck too!" Azeban blinked at him rapidly as she imagined herself forcing Dawnlander through Grimm and human flesh alike.

"Then what can we do?" she asked, voice cracking. Xan's ragged gasping was becoming weaker. Taking one glance at Xan's puffing face as tears streamed from her eyes both students' blood went ice-cold.

Azeban knew death happened in High Crimson. No year went by that someone didn't die, even if her family had been blessedly spared. She'd never seen someone dying in front of her. And the idea that Xan might suffocate right here and now made her hands start to tremble.

Xan drew her gun from its holster with shaking hands, popping open the cylinder and clawing out the bullets inside. The tails on her arm suddenly constricted, and her bullets tumbled away from her grasp. Percy scrambled for one and held it up to the light. Behind a translucent casing, bright red dust glowed with faint fire.

"The Dust! Fire might just work!" Percy practically screamed. Seeing what the boy had in mind, Azeban snatched one from the ground. She held her weapon's blade up, intending to scrape the primer loose from the case, but her blade felt big and clumsy. Her palms began to turn sweaty as she worked, time ticking away in her head.

Looking over toward Percy, she realized he was already ahead of her. He'd produced a tiny knife, likely a tool rather than a weapon, and was already prying a bullet open. Red sparks began to pop and made an arch of fire from his grasp, singing him on a finger and making him wince. Azeban raised her weapon to the font of fire in time to collect the flaming Dust on Dawnlander's blade, then raised it to the Grimm's tail like a torch, setting it alight. After a few moments of burning the tail began to break away from its grip on Xan's throat. Azeban pulled them away as it loosened, growling at it as the thing writhed like a snake.

Xan's breathing was torn and hard, but Azeban considered it music. Her face fell when she saw the damage to Percy's finger, which he rubbed as he watched his partner breath. Xan's aura sparked, bright and strong, and her breaths began to even out. She wheezed and gestured for Azeban's blade, who offered it and watched as Xan pressed the searing hot steel against the second Imp's tail until it slid off her arm.

"Thanks…" Xan coughed out the spit flooding her throat as she tried to right herself. "Thanks for that." When Perseus tried to help steady Xan from behind, she swung her shoulder off of his palm and gave him a scowl. Azeban leaned forward and spoke up.

"Percy… I couldn't have done it without him." She said, then looked at him and smiled softly, her eyes glistening as she imagined if she'd been alone.

"Well, guess that makes you and me even, pretty boy," Xan said, spitting again while she focused on returning her spare bullets to their chamber. She looked back up toward the trees with death in her eyes. Percy said nothing as he rubbed his burnt finger, the fear of the moment still etched deep in his face.

"Point me after those little shits."

Azeban gave her best estimation, not bothering to argue against the action. Xan was out for blood, and Azeban doubted she'd be dissuaded from hunting the Imps down.

"Xan...take a minute at least," Percy said. She looked at her partner with a fiery scowl as she stood tall, salvaging her remaining sense of pride.

"Follow me or don't. Your choice. But I won't sit here nursing my bruises." Azeban watched the two apprentices disappear into the Emerald Forest. She was alone once more and surrounded by the echoes of other battles.

She wondered how many were balancing on a knife's edge like Xan's had a moment ago. Xan's face, teary-eyed and discolored, was still engrained in her mind.

Her imagination began to torment her as she swapped Xan's face with others she'd seen recently, with the faces of students she'd noticed in the locker room, with her family members, and eventually her own face. She swallowed and rubbed her throat. Feeling her fingers brush the strap on her shoulder, she remembered the Final Word was on her back. Hesh was still without his weapon. And possibly, alone with a Grimm wrapped around his neck.

Running to a tree, she managed her way up to a higher elevation and started leaping from branch to branch again. As the waves of green leaves rushed past her in her stride, she thought of how they had never seemed so scary until now.

...

Somewhere else in the woods, the screeching primates showed their thoughts to the greater mind that had been leading them. That elderly Grimm sat in the shadows of trees, its neck arched toward the ground and ears swiveling back and forth. It felt ponderous thoughts swirl through its mind.

A massive haze of dozens of smaller eyes saw on its behalf all across the forest. Some flared with heat and hatred as they spotted humans from their hiding spots, others remained dim with disuse, and several were blinking out completely as their thoughts were scrambled by deathblows. Humans were near, and they could fight.

It had nearly given in to the impulse to go find the snake that morning. Two human faces had lit up their blur of minds with flashes of carnage as the pair ripped into their lesser ranks, beckoning nearby young ones to come and kill. Then more humans had begun falling into the black expanse of thought, instilling a new purpose into the elderly Grimm. It stayed perched in the shadows, grasping at lesser minds and pointing them in new directions.

A hard-won intelligence forged over the years now held it in place. It could read the pathway of death carving toward its direction. It could be patient.

The humans were already heading its way.

**xxx**

_**Editor Note:**_

_**All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back the following Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	7. Never Alone

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

xxx

Hesh opened his eyes to green trees hanging down towards a cyan, cloud-streaked abyss. Pain rushed in a second afterward. Blood pounded in his head, his neck ached from hanging loose, and everything beneath it felt like a giant bruise. He slowly turned his head on a swivel, trying to see the world around him with greater clarity.

He was up high in a tree, hanging belly-up over a hardy branch like a drying towel. Rays of sunlight were warming his chest from a hole in the treetops. Hesh inspected the evidence and concluded that he'd blacked out on the way down to the forest and his aura had kept his spine intact when the tree canopy caught him.

The opening in the treetops was a lonely porthole in the forest roof that was lined by snapped branches bearing their bright green flesh, which was linked to a trail of broken twigs that led down to his location. Sighing deeply, he let his head drop down again with a crumpled, weary frown. The sudden movement summoned a nasty ache in his neck that made his face wrinkled in pain.

"How long have I been up here? Is the test over? Are there any teammates left to find?" The thought of having failed already made his heart race. He began to struggle for a better perch, but the creaking of the branch from his movements made him steady. He started thinking again.

"I have to get back on my feet. Start searching for a partner. Or maybe go for the relics first? There'll probably be other people there, so I could get both done at once." Hesh moved to push himself upward again, but a pair of sudden biting pains shot into his shoulder blades and he turned limp again.

"First things first, I need to get out of this tree."

He tipped his head back and searched the ground below for somewhere soft to land. Aiming for bushes seemed like a smart idea, but the thought of landing in a weave of thorns made him reconsider. As he ran his gaze along the tree's base, a black shape appeared in the corner of his eye that made his breath freeze and his heart leap.

Staring up at him from the tree base below was a Grimm. A wolf's skull was turned upwards to him. Its left arm was outlined with black, needle-like hairs broken up by patterns of gashed skin. Its red eyes were full of anger that Hesh could see from even from a far distance up above.

Grimm. An old Valish word for 'rage'. _For by rage shall you know them. _

Hesh saw it quietly dragging its claws against the trunk of his tree, digging deeper and deeper ruts into the bark. He had the horrible idea of what those claws might have done to him if he'd landed, helpless and unconscious, at the base of the tree. His senses began to melt into a blur as the monster became all he could see.

As his breathing became erratic, he noticed he was panicking now, and tried to pull himself back to the present moment. _You're alive, Crane, and you have more than a fighting chance against it if you're smart. _ Looking back at the monster again, he saw it was actually rather small.

The books he'd devoured on the subject of Grimm -no small number- let him identify the beast as a Beowolf. It was short for it's kind, but the bright red of its eyes marked it as maybe a year old. The collection of wounds and missing arm suggested it had recently survived a fight with someone. Hesh tried to ignore what that might imply.

It huffed in desperation as it tried over and over to climb up toward him, it's a stub for an arm waggling as it failed every time. Hesh marveled at it. The way it flailed for him endlessly, with no sense of impotence or hesitation to try again, was somehow fascinating. He almost felt sorry for it.

A breath of relief bellowed out of Hesh's lungs. _It can't reach me up here, at least._ That alone revived his nerves. His right hand slipped down to his belt and his fingers found nothing where his sword belt should've been. His heartbeat began to thunder in his ears. He scanned the ground by the monster's feet. His sword was gone. Corvo's sword was gone.

"Don't panic, Corvo's calm voice said in his brain, "panic and it's all over." He felt his right side and grasped the handle of his Maus pistol, mouthing a silent thank you to the forest. The weapon slid from its holster and settled into his palm.

He popped the box magazine out and fished for one marked in red along his ammo belt. Hessian slotted the fire dust clip into place with a heartening clack. He held his right hand's wrist in place to prepare for the kick. Taking aim at the huffing target below, he breathed in. At the end of his exhale, he fired.

A crack and a flash from his barrel cam before the sight his target's face erupting in a puff of red and its body flopping to the ground. Sadly, Hessian had no time to savor the sight. The recoil had slung him off his spot on the treetops and sent him slamming into the lower branches, tumbling away toward the ground.

When he hit the ground on his left side, the shoulder went numb and he yelped. He gripped the tree trunk in his right hand and lifted himself to lean back against it. His arm hung limp at his side. For a horrific second, he was certain it was dislocated, and that he was about to die. The world swam before him before he managed to focus his vision on a lump of black fur curled up several yards away from him. The Beowolf gurgled wetly and shuddered every other second. Hesh scanned the forest floor and realized he'd lost his grip on his gun while he fell. Around him were ferns and bushes and the untamed grass of the woodland floor. It could've been anywhere.

"Damn it!" he cried, his voice cracking in fear as his vision combed the tall grass for anything steel-colored. He glanced over his shoulder and his blood ran cold.

The Beowulf stumbled as it rose and turned towards him, revealing a horrid sight. Hesh's bullet had landed on its lower jaw, ripping it away along with a chunk of its neck. The head flopped to the side as the beast stumbled towards him with outstretched claws. A waterfall of oily blood trickled down its front as it tried to growl from the hole beneath its destroyed maw.

Hesh forced himself to stand up. Disoriented from his fall, his feet skimmed a root and he slammed his bad shoulder into a tree trunk. It took all his strength to stay upright. His aura had been spent on saving him from the initial fall through the forest. All he had left was his armor and final modest ace up his sleeve.

Hesh's right hand reached around to his back and slid his bayonet from its separate sheath. The blade felt light as a pen in his hand, not much more imposing than a typical kitchen knife. Steel in hand, he turned to face his enemy.

Much closer now, the Beowulf's wound appeared to give it trouble. Hesh's chances with only a short blade were not greatly improved, but at least his head was more so on his shoulders than his opponent's. He'd go for the roof of the mouth and stab it in the brain. No fancy tricks, no stupid maneuvers.

_Don't panic. Panic and it's all over._ He kept the blade's point centered on the ruins of its face as he began to sidestep the creature. His sword was gone but nothing could strip years of lessons from his brain.

The monster regained enough of its balance to lunge at him and Hesh reacted with a practiced dodge. He ducked below the Beowulf's grasping hand and shot up when it whiffed the air where he'd been standing. He drove his bayonet into the roof of the monster's maw with a wet crunch. The skull outside was hard but the mouth palate was soft as wet clay, though it gave some resistance.

Hesh growled with surprise and drew his breath in sharply as the Beowulf's hands snatched at his chest. _Not dead yet. _The claws sunk through his coat and just barely past his armor, pricking his skin underneath with their tips. He jammed the blade upwards with both hands, putting all his strength into a final desperate stab. The bayonet slid past bone and deep into its' skull, making the Beowulf spasm for a moment before it toppled onto him, heavy and lifeless as a bag of sand.

Hesh winced. He'd fallen awkwardly to the ground and the beast's weight pinned his arm across his chest in an uncomfortable pose. Blood soaked his armor, turning the gray chest piece dark and dirty. Hesh breathed through his mouth as the beast's last breaths exhaled something fierce. Hesh realized he should be prouder of himself; he'd killed his first Grimm. He gave a hollow laugh.

"If only Corvo could see me now," he grunted, feeling adrenaline fueled giddiness, "he'd snap a photo and insist on an oil painting." He tried to shove the corpse off with his right arm, but the weight was too much without both his hands.

The corpse began to twitch, stopping Hessian's heart for a pause, then spasmed as pores across its body opened up and hissed out puffs of terribly foul air. The solid form atop him became soft, tickling his arm with tiny bubbles as the flesh turned more and more like carbonated mud. Hesh wiggled out from beneath the sludge and retrieved his bayonet from a clump of skull that was turning soft as a sponge. He meekly dragged himself away from the mess.

The young boy clasped a hand over his mouth as the melting Grimm turned thinner and thinner, then began to evaporate. He gagged at the sight of the creature as it melted from recognizable features into a pile of black tar. Hesh closed his eyes to try and forget the image, but the smell was already stuck inside his nostrils.

"I think I'd burn an oil painting of this moment." Hesh teased himself as his stomach tried to hold fast. He felt something heavy jump up to his throat that made him hold his breath until it went back down.

As the boy breathed deep and closed his eyes, he imagined the cliffs of Northern Vale. In his mind, dark blue swells swirled in the sea, moving in time with storm clouds above as they both crashed into the ashen seaside he called home.

The soothing thoughts produced a sonic hum that tickled his eardrums. He opened his eyes to see glimmers of gray light shimmering around him like the surface of a body of water. His body's aching muscles and bruises began to quiet as the healing essence of his Aura welled in his chest and poured out into his limbs. Salt, stone, and the cold smell of water washed away the Grimm's putrescence from his nose.

He took a moment to examine his surroundings for the first time and saw an army of trees in every direction. _Ozpin said the ruins could be found at the forest's Northern edge._ The boy patted down the forest floor until he'd found his pistol in a little bush of bluebells, then checked his ammunition count. 22 bullets, counting all. He winced at the idea of fighting more Grimm with only a knife and a pistol.

He prioritized. Looking back up to the canopy, he judged the trajectory he'd made while falling through the treetops. If his sword wasn't near the tree he'd landed in, it must have come off mid-air. Which meant it could have landed anywhere in the vast part of the forest he'd sailed over.

"Damn it! **Damn **it!" He kicked at the grass in a violent tantrum. The Grimm was long gone and denied him a chance to stomp on its corpse. He searched the treetops desperately for his sword, hoping that his luck might turn at the last minute. He saw nothing but a little bird, eyeing him with strangely intense interest.

He patted himself down. His compass remained, and his armor was still mostly intact. He picked out a path due north and then turned south, in the general direction he'd been launched. Come hell or high water, he needed to get his sword back.

The bird up above watched him wander off with an iris that quietly buzzed. It made a pre-recorded "chirp" from a tiny speaker in its beak as it relayed footage of the boy back to a room far from the forest. That room featured men and women clad in uniform who served as the unseen staff of Beacon academy.

They carefully operated the consoles that commanded a flock of metallic birds all while teachers hovered near their cubicles and watched the children on screen.

Ozpin was among them. Both he and Glynda had taken time out of their schedules every year to help their teaching staff in evaluations on a basis of ethics. It was normally an almost sacred ritual for him and his right-hand commander.

Upon the shoulders of each student weighed the future of Beacon -the future of the Hunters- and for that Ozpin wanted nothing less than to supervise each one of them himself. Unfortunately, it was an easier undertaking this year than ever. And it came with extra baggage in the form of a foul-mouthed jokester. York watched with an amused smirk as he watched Hesh wander off.

"Well, well, it's our friend from the fountain! He's doing just _peachy_, isn't he? Heading in the wrong direction, and minus one sword," York said. Glynda resisted the urge to throw him out for the hundredth time.

"The selection isn't over yet, York," Glynda said, "he'll find his way. He's already made a good account of himself. Or maybe you weren't paying attention when he slew that Grimm?" The boy had country miles to go before he'd graduate, but Glynda wouldn't discount him yet.

"Any lout who can't manage a half-melted Beowolf while armed with a gun _and_ a knife has no business _saying _the word 'Hunter' much less being one. So far, I only see children who're ready to buckle their own pants for the first time. And for some, not even that." York snickered as he watched another teen, a skinny boy clad in purple, wander through the same clearing for what must've been the sixth time. Glynda felt the need to defend her potential charges.

"No one is born a Hunter, York, and our job is to mold young men and women into warriors," she said, "if Haven insists its students be so expert before they enter, I have to wonder what that says about your ability to teach anything worthwhile." York, to her annoyance, merely grinned his equine grin.

"Mould, huh? Like from clay or mud? Haven sculpts, Dr. Goodwitch. Our students are solid-as-stone all the way through, from start to finish," York gloated. A glimmer of red drew his attention to the central screen on the wall. A flare arced and faded over a large mausoleum. The first team had reached the ruins.

"We make do ourselves, York," Ozpin said, managing to keep the relief from his voice, "and so far, we've yet to be disappointed."

"I'll signal Dakka to pick them up," Glynda offered, once again pretending York wasn't there, "I expect our students will arrive in short order." York yawned and leaned on the back of a technician's chair, not noticing how its occupant scowled at him.

"I thought we were just getting started," he said with a nod to the screens. Glynda removed her glasses and wiped imaginary blotches to avoid doing something rash and ugly.

"They'll _all_ make it to the ruins, York, you expect too much of them too quickly. The other teams are doing fine." York kept his eyes on the screen as he growled back.

"'Every team is only as strong as its worst warrior. Right, Glynda? Or do you not still teach that here?"

Incensed by his remark, Glynda prepared to evict him, bodily if necessary, from the observation room. Ozpin slowed her role with a few words.

"You remember the words if not the spirit, York, and pretending you hate this school doesn't make you an expert on how it should be run. Now, do your best to stop distracting my staff," Ozpin said. Whatever comeback York prepared was cut off by the technician.

"Headmaster, we just lost another camera in the 8th quadrant… actually, that's two more cameras," she said. She gasped as three more screens followed in rapid succession, replaced with static and white noise.

_Oh, splendid. _Ozpin fumed. He spotted a newly hired staff, clearly unsure of what to do in this contingency, and went to their side. York grinned as he watched him walk away.

"Good to see those Hunter Lodge funds go unwasted, Ozzie! Only top-of-the-line gear for the lil' huntlings!" He turned to the fizzing screens and gave one a firm slap on the side of its monitor to see if that helped, then turned back to his remaining company and narrowed his eyes.

"Now, give me the truth, dear Glynda, since Teacher is out. What the hell is going on around here today? What's with all the outages? And where's the Odd Couple, Oakley and Greystoke?" Glynda glanced at her clipboard to feign indifference.

"Doing their jobs, York. As I would like to, if you don't mind," she said. Glynda turned and watched the screens. Rhodizite Henry was grappling with a large Boarbatusk near where he'd landed. His hammer and sheer size seemed to be making the difference for his obvious lack of practical experience.

"What rock was this grub hiding under?" York commented.

"He came on recommendation," Ozpin said, appearing by their side again, "Rhodizite Henry of Ainnis-Clotch. Surely you must've seen his file?" If Ozpin had hoped that might distract York from the next camera that failed, he got his wish.

"What?" York whirled around to face him, eyes flashing. "Who from where? No, I didn't see that recommendation! Hunter recommendation? You sure?" He suddenly eyed the young man with renewed interest. The Boarbatusk's skull plate cracked open under a blow from Rhod's hammer, black blood dribbling over like an oil spring. York's own sourness couldn't change the fact that, despite Rhod's clumsy fighting, he had clear potential.

"Hunter Corduroy Carpenter sent out a recommendation in the spring," Ozpin said, tension building as he guessed what happened, "Should I assume you... didn't receive word?" York's face twisted with rage.

"That old _**dirtbag**_ let you poach a Recommendation! Again!" The room's eyes all went to York as his voice overpowered every video feed. "Oh, Ozzy, is _that _how it's gonna be? Just throw us **all **under the bus when your good buddies start sliding you 'wonder kids' under the table?" York fumed and Ozpin, worn out from juggling five problems at once, couldn't think of a way to calm him.

"I had simply assumed…" he began. York's laugh, devoid of any real humor, cut him off.

"Well, we've all heard what happens when you 'assume' right, Oz?" The man's voice was about to crack with anger, "You make an ass out of yourself. That old craphead keeps pulling this garbage, edging Haven out _on purpose_! And Tin Steady keeps being soft on him! Not this time! Not anymore... I gotta make a call!" York stormed from the room.

"Oz," Glynda said, her voice low so the staff wouldn't hear her, "you weren't aware of Hunter Carpenter's failure to spread the Recommendation to everyone? Were you?" Ozpin turned on her with a deadpan look of exhaustion, the accusation just another weight on his shoulder. It was an old habit for Hunter Carpenter to show spite toward the Academies he held in low regard, but Ozpin had little control over whether or not the man did as he pleased.

"I haven't become that desperate, Dr. Glynda Goodwitch," he said with a flat-tone. They watched the boy on their screen, wincing as York's voice boomed in the hallway.

A distorted squeal pierced the air and another Boarbatusk emerged from the brush, staring Rhod down. The tusks on this one were like a pair of cutlasses and the red markings on its face were intricate. If nothing else, the beast's size alone was enough to mark it as an older, deadlier, opponent.

"Gawd, there's nay end to ye bastarts," Rhod huffed. The Boarbatusk snout wrinkled at the scent of a human and drool dangled from its horrid lips. Rhod squeezed tighter on Polly-Anne's grip as the beast scraped an obsidian hoof through the dirt in anticipation, aiming itself at him.

The beast charged. Rhod raised his hammer up and prepared to crack the Grimm square between the eyes and send it to hell with its kin. He brought the hammer down as the Grimm's stench reached his nostrils.

The Boarbatusk sidestepped to the left at the last second of its charge, leaving Rhod's hammer to slam the dirt. He didn't have time to curse before the Boarbatusk swung its gigantic muzzle into his hip.

A gold volley of light flared around his sides and protected his legs from serious injury, but not the laws of motion. Rhod rolled twice from the impact and got a mouthful of dirt. He scrambled to his feet and fixed the Grimm with a murderous stare.

"Yer fatal mistake, pig," he growled. The Boarbatusk rounded on him once more, but this time Rhod crouched to stare it right in the eye. Its hooves gouged the earth with greater urgency and it angled its tusks for a frontal attack.

Rhod's semblance kicked in, making his joints lock up and his muscles freeze until he was as heavy and stationary as the cliffside's wall. He couldn't so much as blink as he watched the Grimm slam headfirst into his stomach, the force of the impact traveling harmlessly around his shoulders, leaving him with not a mark on his body. The Grimm had hit him like he were a steel beam, its faceplate splitting into a shower of misshapen shards and rattling the creature's grey brains inside its skull.

Despite its grievous injuries, it charged forward mindlessly with Rhod's rock-solid heels digging deep ruts of upturned grass and dirt at an arctic pace. It staggered back and tried, behind a haze of hate and internal bleeding, to ponder the solid human between its tusks. Rhod held his breath tight, his body still petrified, as he watched the beast eye him over hatefully.

Instinct overruled common sense and the boar gave one last mighty charge, slamming them both against a tree. The force behind their impact again sailed around Rhod harmlessly, bouncing back into the Boarbatusk with a powerful recoil that splintered the skull plate into a fine spider web pattern of broken pieces.

Rhod waited till the beast had rolled onto its side in a slump before he released his semblance. He sighed while strolling away from the side of the ailing Borbatusk, which squirmed in its place.

His chest burned for something cold, so he reached down to his buckle and fumbled with his canteen. The dying Grimm growled through a maw full of blood as he tried to take a deep gulp.

"Aye, be right wit ye," he muttered, then continued to shoot a swig of ice-cold water. He did a few upper body twists to loosen up. The Boarbatusk keened at him like a dented train whistle. Rhod snarled and stomped on its battered head, crushing the creature's head.

"Shut yer gob!" He was tired. The landing had been unpleasant and making any headway in the forest had been one long fight. Smaller Grimm had harried him the whole way, keeping him moving in one direction, and his muscles were starting to ache. His hammer felt like a beam of steel in his hand and his feet screamed for a rest. He'd not seen a single soul in the few hours since he'd landed.

There was a brief moment of blessed silence before Rhod's day became even worse.

Snuffling and hellish grunting resounded from the trees behind him and chilled his fury. As if summoned by the other's death cries, two more Boarbatusks trampled over wild blackberry bushes and snorted at the air like their dead brother once did.

Caught off guard, Rhod dropped his canteen to grip Polly Anne's hilt as he readied himself for a fight. The battles were starting to pile up, and Rhod was getting fatigued from them all. He hoped these two would go down fast, or else he'd soon be at the end of his rope.

Somewhere above them all, a Faunus girl clad in crimson red was surveying the land from a treetop when she heard those rage-filled squeals echo in her ears.

Azeban turned her head down toward the noises. A deep voice bellowed in response to the monstrous noise. She cocked her head towards where she envisioned the source. Borbatusks. Two of them, angry and charging. Her ears told no lies on these matters.

Azeban knew from experience that so much as one Borbatusks was nothing to kid about. Whether it was Hesh or not didn't matter. Someone needed her help. She sprung from the oak's upper branches and landed in a spruce as her ears lead her toward the fray.

The Boarbatusks were at once. Rhod dove out of their way and slammed belly first on the ground. His armor was not made for quick evasions, nor was his giant frame. He regained his footing as the monsters circled in place to align with him again.

He rushed the nearest one with a volley of brutal swings that forced the Grimm backward but did little else to its armored body. They circled and charged again, stopped this time by Rhod's desperate hammer swings. A lucky blow burst one of their orange eyeballs. He swung again and cracked a tusk in two, but they still drove him back towards the trees.

His swings kept them slow and shuddering, and they'd bunched up enough for him to herd them in a circle, but even still Rhod had next to no control over them. If all four had found him at once, he'd have been dead in minutes. He was stuck. If he tried to run they'd chase him down and if turned solid they could simply wait him out. He needed a way out.

He felt his waistband and slid free an iron stick painted a bright shade of cautionary red, pushing a button that deployed a spike at the bottom. He chose a target carefully, then raised his iron stake in his left hand and locked eyes on the one-eyed Boarbatusk. It wouldn't be the smartest decision, but if it wasn't his last decision he'd be happy.

As he prepared to make his move, a red blur dropped from the trees. A girl dressed in red had her raccoon tail turned to him, but the fray of battle left Rhod little time to register the sight of her before his savior spoke.

"Get up into the trees! Run!" Azeban leaped forward and spun her glaive's blade, reaching under the Grimm's hind legs and slicing its vulnerable belly. The cut was too shallow to finish the fight but went deep enough to grab the monster's attention.

Rhod wasn't moving.

"Hurry! I can't hold them off forever!" the Faunus yelled at him. The explosive still in hand, Rhod charged the one-eyed Boarbatusk with a berserker roar.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Azeban wondered as she twirled Dawnlander around and tried to jab a Boarbatusk in the eyes. The Grimm had enough sense to toss its head and deflect her with its tusks.

"Keep 'em busy, lassie, and ah'll fash off his brother!" Rhod shouted as he bashed a fleshy snout with his hammer and the nostrils spouted blood. He compressed a second button on his iron stake and it started to beep in time with a frantic red light.

Slinging Polly Anne back over his shoulder, Rhod opened his hands and clasped a Boarbatusk by the horns before he froze himself still for a moment, then released his semblance and quickly jammed the spike of his red stick deep into the monster's eye socket. He groaned with the effort, feeling the burning ache of his exhausted body.

"Oi!" Rhod shouted at the other Boarbatusk. It turned its head from Azeban and focused its injured brain on the human drawing its attention. Azeban, never lowering her glaive, shot Rhod a glance as well.

"Seriously?" she growled, "What are you trying to do?" She jolted back as the Grimm in front of her turned away.

The monstrous pig, trailing its cleaved guts, charged him from behind. Rhod inhaled deep, then grabbed the beast before him by one horn and pulled it into the charge of its brother. The two collided at the skull plate and their tusks locked with one another, leaving his two attackers tangled. As they squealed in a furious struggle, Rhod turned and began to rush the Faunus girl, puffing like a train engine.

"Alright, nice! They're almost de-" before Azeban could finish, she yelped at the feeling of a pair of giant arms scooping her up. She kicked out and caught Rhod in the pectorals, but the boy continued to sprint without a grunt. Azeban began to wonder if he was insane _and_ invincible.

Rhod carried her until he was confident they were out of the blast zone, then came to a stop past the tree line in a huff. His aura dropped and his lungs burned in his chest. A pair of sharp pinpricks dug into his hand, piercing his heavy gloves and making him drop the girl with a yelp.

Azeban leaped up into a combat position, trying to stay dignified as she gaged from the taste of a dirty glove in her mouth. She kept a careful distance from him, waiting for any sign of movement on his part.

"I can run fine without the help, whoever you are! Keep your hands to yourself!" she said in a fierce whisper. She hoped her twitching tail didn't betray her confidence. Rhod ignored the pain in his hand as he kept a count in his head. His eyes widened.

"Drop! Drop, fer gawd's sake!" His shouting filled the forest. Azeban hissed at him.

"Shut up," she said, "you'll bring them back down on us if you aren't quiet-"

Rhod caught her in his wide grasp and Azeban felt a living brick wall land on top of her. Rhod hugged Azeban's head, not quite covering her sensitive ears. She caught almost the full volume of Rhod's dynamite as it exploded far away, a white-hot flash that reached past rows of trees followed closely by a massive, terrible boom.

Azeban's whole world was the sharp ringing of her ears. Rhod stood up and lifted her to her feet with a light touch unlike the manhandling she experienced earlier. She was too shell shocked to realize that, in that moment, he stared her right in the eyes with a bewildered smile.

"Awright? Didnae rattle you over much, aye?" the boy asked, a bit amazed he was alive.

"What the hell was that?" Azeban asked, her voice shaking. She got to her feet slowly, trying to keep her legs from turning to jelly as she trembled.

"'Erer, lassie, just follow me finger, awright?" Rhod raised a single index finger and moved it slowly before her eyes. The words trickled into her ears and she nodded, her pupils slide left to right in time with his digit. Azeban's footing became solid and she curled her fingers into a fist, her lip arching in fury as her mind registered everything that just happened.

"Grand, grand. Go un an' state yer name fer me," he said. She slugged him right in the jaw. Rhod took the full brunt of its strength and his head whipped to side. The boy clutched his face as Azeban rescinded her hand with a yelp. Her knuckles hurt like she'd punched a tree.

"Azeban Quinn," she said through gritted teeth, "awful to meet you. If you'll excuse me, my friend needs his sword." She'd locked eyes with this boy, but she wouldn't partner with him. He was recklessly insane, and explosives freaked her out. She spun on her heel and marched for the highest tree to get her bearings once more. Her legs hit the ground unevenly at first but came back to her by the time she reached the trunk.

"Ah prolly deserve that." Rhod picked up his hammer and jogged after her. He gaped as she scaled the tree with no effort.

"Without question. You could've gotten us both killed with that…whatever that was!" Azeban growled as she dug her claws into the bark and ascended.

"It was the best chance we had to get away!" He argued back.

"As if! They were practically dead already!" She shouted over her shoulder while reorienting herself. Rhod felt himself blush as his methods were held to the light of day. The dynamite had seemed worth a shot before she'd dropped in, if not a particularly elegant plan.

"Aw, dinnae loss yer head! An' hold up, ay? Yourself an' me...partners now, right?" Rhod hadn't given the idea a great deal of thought, but he remembered the rules.

"That doesn't matter," she replied after a moment, "I have to go find my friend. This is **his **sword strapped to my back and I've already wasted enough time here."

"Ah'll help!" Rhod called up to her as she began to disappear from sight. Azeban scoffed and shot him a withering look.

"Sure, how about you cover the ground and blow some more trees up, that'll help," she called in a mocking tone. Rhod watched her scramble into the trees and huffed. He examined the two pin size holes her teeth had made in his gloves and considered the way she'd handily dispatched a Boarbatusk.

"They call me 'Rhod'," he mumbled to himself, "awful 'ta meet ye as well. Cannae wait to start classes together. Brothers dammnit all." He searched his belt for his canteen, then sighed as he overlooked the scorched ruins of his battleground.

...

Rip did his best to stay calm when he recognized a collection of three egg-shaped stones in a clearing beneath an elm. He'd put them there forty-five minutes ago, to mark the spot in case he made another circle. For hours, he'd wandered through the Emerald Forest, making little progress before doubling back by accident.

"This is so freaking humiliating," he grumbled, "I haven't even seen a Grimm yet." Fear of the monsters had left him some time ago. He'd started to think they weren't any in the forest at all, maybe as a big 'the final test was courage' sort of twist.

That idea had vanished when gunshots rang out an hour before. Rip, ignoring all instincts, had decided to seek out the source of the fighting. The woods got him twisted around each time, even when he'd tried to make a point of keeping in one direction.

He glared up at the oppressive sun and scratched at one of a dozen new mosquito bites.

"Come on," he said, "something **has** to change here." A moment later, he heard a heavy fluttering from every direction. A cloud of black shapes filled the holes of the forest canopy, heading off in a common direction. Rip assumed that a flock of birds had been scared by some distance fight.

Then a half-dozen of them peeled off the curling swarm and began to wing towards him.

"What?" He said, mouth hanging open dumbly. They swooped in, Grimm the size and shape of turkey vultures, and began to cackle at him horribly. He was quick, a part of him knew that, and should've snatched the first one out of the air with ease. Instead, he threw his arms over his head and shut his eyes.

"Getaway! Stop!" he yelled, feeling beak and talon tear at his exposed back. His aura flashed a violet glow against its assailants. One of them snatched his finger, tugging it even as his aura resisted.

_Take a stance! A stance! Tear its stupid head off! _The thoughts raced through his mind but his body refused to obey.

"Drop down!" a voice from somewhere nearby commanded. Rip threw himself to the dirt and curled up into a ball. The mocking cries of the Grimm filled his ears before a few crisp gunshots silenced them.

Rip's nose was twitching at the smell of grass and earth, he came back to reality with an ache in his jaws from clenching his teeth. He was shaking like a dry leaf on a windy day. A few careful footsteps circled him.

When he finally dared to look up, he saw a boy dressed in a gray outfit ripped at the shoulders, with closely cut hair discolored by dried mud, scanning the forest with a pistol. Around them both lay the sizzling corpses of six avian Grimm. Rip vaguely remembered seeing them in a book, under the species name "Fury".

"I didn't do anything, did I?" Rip said, blinking rapidly at his savior.

"Shhh!" the other boy snapped. Rip got to his feet, relieved that he didn't stumble from the adrenaline flooding his body. He looked around them as well, desperate to make himself appear at least somewhat competent.

"I-I don't think there are any more," Rip whispered. The boy shot him a perturbed look and pressed a finger to his own lips.

Rip realized a second later that they'd just become partners with that single gesture. A moment of silence later and his new partner carefully holstered his gun. Rip noted that, in spite of this, his shoulders never once relaxed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, without looking at Rip. His eyes, a deep, dark gray, never stopped moving about them.

"Yeah," Rip said, "are you?" Rip watched the boy's fingers twitch. His hand had not strayed far from the gun. He finally faced Rip fully. The intensity on his face was alarming. Bolad had taught Rip that care and attention in fighting were important, but only when coupled with the ability to relax.

"Have you seen a saber in a red scabbard? Maybe hanging from a tree?" Rip took a long moment to decipher the odd question. The young man who'd saved him was starting to frighten him a little.

"No," he said, fighting the urge to take a step back, "sorry." Movement out of the corner of his eye made him tense up and the boy in front of him whirled, grasping at his pistol.

"Easy!" Rip said, his reflexes finally kicking in. He held the other boy's hand in place and they both beheld a rabbit, its eyes alert, staring at them both. It quickly vanished into a thicket of foliage.

"Oh," the boy in gray said, sounding slightly surprised. "Yes. Thank you. Nearly wasted a bullet. How many do I have left now?" He made a quick count on his gunbelt and grimaced.

"You said you were looking for a sword?" He jolted back when the boy's eyes turned on him again. There was a flash of manic hope in them.

"Yes," he said, the words tumbling out, "in a red scabbard. A saber with no crossguard. Its probably attached to a leather belt but it…" the boy stopped short as Rip held up both hands, palms forward, to quiet him.

"I haven't seen your sword," Rip said, "but right now, I want you to take a _deep breath_ and count backwards from ten." Rip received an incredulous look, but he remained firm in his instruction.

"C'mon," he said, "deep breath." He was reluctantly obeyed. The boy's shoulders slumped at last, as if he was deflating with each breath. A look of despair crossed his face and he looked ready to say something.

"Count backwards from ten," Rip said. As an afterthought, he added, "and tell me your name."

"10, 9, 8," the boy began, sounding more miserable with every number, "7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. My name is Hessian." Rip smiled.

"Feel any better, Hessian?" he asked. Hessian shook his head and crouched down to sit on his haunches, looking like he'd just been given the worst news of his life.

"Everything's all gone so wrong," he said, "I lost Corvo's sword and who knows where Azeban is." Hessian suddenly looked like he'd sat on a pin. "Oh, and I guess now we're partners aren't we? We have to be..." He buried his face in his hand and groaned. Rip grinned.

"Don't be too disappointed you might hurt my feelings." His grin vanished when Hessian looked up, face full of contrition.

"No no, it's not your fault...I mean, it's not a problem...I only meant that a friend of mine and…oh, this whole morning! It's been one giant failure!"

"Deep breaths again," Rip said softly, "and count backwards from ten." Hessian waved him off like a mosquito as he rose from his place, then looked Rip in the eyes.

"I didn't even ask you your name," he said.

"Rip, and thanks for the save back there." Hessian gave him a confused look.

"The save? Those little things couldn't do too much by themselves," Hesh said. Rip tried to keep his smile as he pondered how much that little aside had stung. The Furies had certainly _seemed _life-threatening to him.

"Well," Rip said, a little pointedly, "never mind then. Any chance you know where we're supposed to be going? I'll let you get back to searching for your friend's sword if you can tell me which way is north." Hessian unclipped a compass from his belt. Rip rolled his eyes at how underdressed this guy made him feel.

_Can't fight. Didn't think to bring a compass. The Grimm are just gonna run __screaming __from you, Rip 'ol buddy. _

"You should head that way," Hessian pointed as he spoke, "and in roughly an hour you'll reach the ruins." Hessian closed the compass and began to stride away. Rip suddenly considered the cloud of Furies he'd seen racing off earlier. He thought about Hessian's wide, over-alert eyes, and rapid breathing.

"Come with me," Rip said. Hessian stopped.

"I...I'm not much use without my sword," he mumbled, "and I don't want to slow you down. I'll be your partner, of course, I won't break the rules but…"

"Good," Rip cut in, "be my partner now. I'll be lost without some kind of direction, and as for fighting, I think that little piece on your hip is help enough. Now, c' mon, we'll find your sword later. Together." Hessian straightened up and about-faced. Rip was happy to see he looked serious and in control this time.

"Yes," Hessian said, "that's a good plan, Rip." Hessian assumed a stance alongside him, seeming to wait on his leave to move. Rip could tell that, wherever his new comrade came from, he was military-grade. Still, he'd take awkward formality over distress and self-pity. Rip smiled and gestured at the woods.

"You got the compass, dude," Rip said, "lead on, or whatever you call it."

"Oh, of course. Yes, obviously," he stuttered. Hesh drew back out his pistol and held it at the ready above his shoulder as he peaked around trees for more trouble. "Follow me. Keep your eyes peeled." Rip gave a saucy salute.

"Sir, yes, sir, General, sir." His smile wavered at the look Hessian gave him. Rip had touched a raw nerve without realizing it.

"Or… just Hessian is fine," he offered. With that, they forged ahead through shrubbery and vines in long, purposeful strides into the heart of the Emerald Forest.

The flock of Furies circled over-head, their cackling filling the world. Below them, an old and decaying manor loomed, with an overgrown garden in its shadow. Crashing through the ivy-choked plant beds was a black and red coil of scales. It was immense, even given its relative youth, and the two Hunters battling moved constantly to avoid being crushed.

"Oakley! Work the middle! C'mon, damn it, shoot the bastard!" Feral Greystoke rolled away from the dark head of the great serpent as it lunged for him with a snap of its mouth. There was a flash of ivory fangs and then the alarming snap of mighty jaws a hair from his body. He rapidly picked at the mouth with a long, curved knife as he cautiously backed up. Each was merely a glancing blow that only served to annoy the creature and bloody the edges of its mouth.

"We don't all toss rocks and sticks, you stupid caveman! I'm lining you up a shot!" Oakley huffed, she pulled off two blasts from her rifle and snarled when they caught a bush. She gasped as the snake's flailing body nearly knocked her from her perch, then slid on her belly to avoid being bitten by the second head at the snake's other end.

"Oh, great shot! Patience really pays!" Feral sidestepped another snap of the snake's jaw before giving it a hearty kick on the side of the head like he was breaking a door down. It recoiled from the blow, then snapped at him again, almost taking off his leg.

"Should I follow your example and _throw _my gun?" She tucked and rolled out of the way of the white head's extended mouth. It bit down on a tree, instantly snapping it in half.

"This one's getting wise on me, Oaks!" Feral shouted, "Take a good shot or make a good plan!" Feral grappled the snake's head with one arm and stabbed at its jugular with the other. He'd slit a young Tai Jitsu's throat once before, but this one was too lively for that.

Oakley slotted a fire round into the chamber of her rifle and took aim. The white head discarded its mouth full of splintered branches and coiled closer toward the ground, its mouth narrowing in a hiss as it flicked its tongue. She noticed the dark head beyond it, a mess of intricate markings on its back, as it shook Feral loose from its neck.

"Switch up, my mark!" she yelled. In a practiced gesture, Feral fastened his knife to the end of a collapsible staff and held it at the ready like a spear. The dark head floated with dangerous intent before him, red eyes the size of hubcaps burning with malice as he poked at it to keep his ground.

"Now!" Both Hunters pivoted as they attacked. When each head of the Tai Jitsu lunged for their own mark, the two huntsmen took aim at the opposite one. A star burst of fire ripped apart the dark head's face, slamming its head sideways into the western wall of Eldritch house. Feral's spear struck home inside the white head's left eye but did little else. The snake reared up, hissing madly and spewing dark blood. Oakley shrieked in anger.

"Dear sweet gods, Feral Greystoke, I am going to die because you won't use a **gun**!" The white-head recovered, reared up to its full height, and fixed its one eye on Oakley. The Huntress felt her back press against a wall and began to breathe in deep huffs.

The Taijistu's death strike was suddenly arrested. Feral hoisted himself onto the white head's face and grappled with his own spear, driving it deeper and deeper as the snake thrashed.

"Any time, Oakley!" came Feral's strained shout from atop the serpent.

"Oh, I won't hear the end of this," Oakley grumbled, she pulled loose her last fire dust round and chambered it. Sighting the center of the monster's roaring mouth, she took a breath and fired.

The top of the serpent's head blew apart, a backdraft of debris catching Feral in his face. It coiled down on itself, lifeless. Oakley leveled her gun at the black-head, just to be sure. A moment later, both ends began to steam and stink. She sighed and spat.

"Happy trails, you ugly, inbred sidewinder," she said. Feral stomped out from beside the vanishing corpse and tried to wipe his face clean. The blood, mid evaporation, stayed stuck to his face as he tried to wipe it, slowly drying and peeling off like paint. A smile fought its way onto her face and she broke into helpless laughter.

"I could be wounded," Feral complained, "I could be dying for your sake right now, and this is how you react? How would you feel if I dropped dead where I'm standing? Goddamn awful. That's how." He gave a nauseous gag and spat out the mildewy grey matter in his mouth.

"At least," Oakley said, hiccuping once from laughter, "at least you'll smell better now." Feral scowled down at his himself at first but looked up with a grin, then started approaching, snake guts still fresh on his palms. Oakley took a step backward.

"Nope," she said quickly. "Right where you are."

"Come on, Oaks," Feral said, stalking forward, "we just won the day and you've had a good laugh. Let's embrace and be chums. Come give us a hug." Another laugh ripped from Oakley as she backpedaled from him.

"I will knock you straight on your ass if you touch me right now," she warned him. She spun and bolted as Feral started chasing her. She heard him shout after her.

"It only stinks a lot, Oakley, come on and…," she grinned at him over her shoulder and was surprised to seem him stop dead, staring dumbly at the sky. Oakley slung her rifle back into her hands, remembering the flock of Furies above. She sighted on them and her blood ran cold.

The Grimm wheeled and twisted overhead in a shape that curled and caved in on itself. They didn't attack. A moment later the cloud of monsters flew back towards the ruins. Towards the children.

"No," she whispered, her feet started moving without her knowledge, "no, no, no. Get back here! What are you doing!? Get back here!" She fired a useless shot at the flock and started to sprint towards the woods.

"Oakley!" Feral's voice was distant behind her.

"Stupid," she hissed to herself, "you're a stupid, blind bungler, Oakley Gracia!" The woods loomed ahead, and a younger, less experienced warrior may have rushed right into death. _It wasn't just a snake, was it Oakley? You've been chasing the red god damn herring!_ Her boots dug into the earth as she stopped short as she noted the trees around them. Long, black tails had penned them in while they were busy with the snake.

"Feral, they lured us here, the sons of bitches! This was a trap!" she cursed. As if in mocking answer, the Imps that penned her into the Eldritch Manor clearing capered and shrieked on the limbs. Their little red eyes gleamed, daring her to move forward into a tangle of choking tails.

Feral walked up beside her, wiping gore from his bewildered face. His scars stood out pale and ghostly on his blood-streaked skin.

"The clever little bastards," his voice was emotionless, "how'd they manage this?"

"Not alone, that's how." She said with a voice withering in despair.

Across the forest, the Elder marched onward, recently stirred from its sleepy state. The great, shared mind had flared with the snake's fight and the elder had watched carefully as the snake fought to the final blow. This did nothing to upset the Grimm. It could see and feel every sense of every Grimm, but held no sympathy.

The Elder simply pulled wavering minds back into form and moved them around. _Encircle the ones fighting the snake. Send the strong ones to places with the most humans. Let the little ones disrupt, the big ones destroy. Keep the groups unbroken. Keep them controlled._ Then it had risen and begun a heavy walk toward spots dense with chaos, pulled by its own drive to kill.

The ruins were not a far distance ahead of it now. It would soon empty this forest of humans, and then move on to somewhere new until all humans were dead. It pondered nothing else. It could do nothing else.

_**Editors Note:**_

_**Hello again everyone! Its been quite a pause since our last update, but we intend to be back on our usual schedule hereto forward. Its been a very turbulent few weeks, but Homer has taken the time necessary to get himself resituated and is feeling much better now. We thank everyone for reading and are proud to see we've gotten our first review from a thoughtful reviewer! **_

_**As always, a**__**ll forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	8. HARQ

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

**xxx**

"Tower, this is Gamehawk," Dakka said into her mouthpiece, "I've got another clutch of future Hunters in. ETA ten minutes."

For Beacon's resident pilot, Dakka Rooivalk, the blue sky was a welcome sight as she lifted from the flat span of earth near the Mausoleum. She smiled and glanced over her shoulder into the heart of the airship.

"How we all doing back there? Does anyone need to use the bathroom? I can open the doors!" She didn't expect any real laughter but the blank, concerned looks turned to her were an unwelcome surprise.

A pair of identical twin brothers, (or perhaps sisters?) whispered to each other hidden behind matching curtains of straight, red hair. A Faunus boy, with a pair of floppy white rabbit's ears hanging on either side of his head, bounced his leg frantically, eyes wide. She spared a last look at a tall, serious-looking young woman with a ponytail of pale yellow-gold hair and hard, green eyes. In one hand she clutched a queen chess piece so tightly Dakka was sure it must've hurt.

"Hey, boss," Dakka called back, "you and your friends okay?" The girl cut a look her way and Dakka that, unlike normal high-school students, she was transporting warriors just as much as she had when she was Atlas Airforce.

"Liddel Pinafore," the girl said, voice refined as a razor's edge, "and we're all a little tired I think."

"Lucky to be alive, as well," the Faunus boy said, "a second later and...and...there were just so many of them! Out of nowhere!" Dakka didn't say anything to this. Privately, she wished the young man luck in the coming months. Seven years flying the Emerald Forest taught her that, non-Hunter she might be, there was a type of test every time you set out. Just getting back into the woods after today would be a challenge for the new students.

"Timer's right. Like an ambush," said one of the twins. The one on the left.

"Or a surprise party," said the one on the right.

"Oh dear," Timer sighed, "don't you both start in now."

"We told you," the left one said, "the one with the antlers is calling them all.

Carroll saw it."

"When?" Timer said, sounding incredulous.

"When I saw the one with the antlers call them all," said Carroll, the one on the right, "then we warned you. Didn't you listen to Tenniel? He just said it!"

"Four years," Timer said, "four years with these two. Why didn't I run straight into the whole lot of those Grimm?"

"Enough you three," Liddel said, "enough for one morning." Dakka smiled as she heard silence reign.

_Guess I know who'll lead this team. _She was about to ask about this Grimm with antlers when a black cloud emerged from the trees on the far side of the forest.

"Tower, this is Gamehawk," Dakka said into her radio, "a whole nightmare of tiny little hostiles is about to come crashing back towards my sector of the forest." For a terrible moment, there was silence from the tower and Dakka thought long about the lack of weapons on her ship.

"I'm sorry," Timer said, "what's going on?! A lot of what?"

"Timer," Liddel's voice rose a fraction of an octave, "let her fly."

There was a harrumph of indignation but otherwise, blessed silence.

"Dakka," Headmaster Ozpin's voice shocked her when she heard it, "we're going blind back here, I need you to keep your eyes open for flares."

"Copy," she said, military training pressed down a thousand questions. She kept a cold focus on the rapidly approaching school. She shut out the vast cloud of monsters soaring nearby and the unseen beasts below them. Something the twins said stood out to her.

"Headmaster," she said into her mouthpiece, "I've got a pair of students here who said something about an antlered Grimm commanding the others." Behind her, Tenniel and Carrol played patty-cake in their seats.

"He wears his crown of bone and yells 'All Grimm to me'!" Tenniel said, in a sing-song voice.

"He's king of monsters, king of death, and mean as he can be!" Carroll replied. Together they sang a final, twisted verse.

"And if you see him coming, hurry up and die or flee!"

"Alright, now that's enough, she understands," Liddel said, with patience. _Do I? _Dakka thought.

"Dakka," Ozpin's voice was disturbingly even when he spoke, "get back here. Now."

"I guess it could be a sword," Azeban whispered as she traced her fingernail through the carving. The choppy lines stood out in soft tan on the oak's deep brown trunk and told her that someone had left the marker there recently.

Azeban clamped her ear against the dry skin of the tree's trunk and listened closely to the echoes of the forest dwellers all around her. As the familiar chattering of life rang in her head, she heard Rhod catching up with her again.

His horse-like sputtering made her roll her eyes sharply as she kept her ears pinned down to the oak, trying to blot out his heavy boots as he came crashing through the bushes.

"Ah...dinnae see any signs o' yer friend...or anyone fer that matter," Rhod panted. Living at the steady pace of mining labor had never given him experience with cross country running, so keeping Azeban in his sight had been a test of endurance. Without waiting for an answer, he sat on a stump.

Azeban knelt to the roots and found an imprint in the dirt that resembled a boot print and grinned like she hadn't for hours. Hesh had left tracks on the way to the catapults that morning that matched the ones beneath her perfectly.

"What did ye find?" Rhod said, still catching his breath. Azeban's tail twitched. She had expected to lose him by now but the persistent giant kept catching up with her. Idly, she realized that this wasn't the best first impression for someone she'd be partners with for the rest of the year, but every so often her ears would ring a little and her goodwill vanished. Looking to the sky, she found true north by way of the afternoon sun.

"I'm moving on," she announced. Rhod groaned and rose to his feet, squeezing his thighs to alleviate the soreness in them.

"Ah'm knackered with sprinting," he said, "an' me throat's dry as desert bones." Azeban shook her head, preparing to hear him air whatever grievances he had against her.

"Awful sorry," he said, "ah need a rest, so goan ahead. Ah'll be along." Azeban made to do just that, finding a good climbing point on the tree in front of her.

"Let yer friend an' his partner know ah'm coming," Rhod said, stopping her short.

"Partner?" she asked. Rhod jabbed a thumb behind him.

"Spied a pair o' tracks goan along with his a ways back. Dinnae ye?" Rhod asked. Azeban realized that, in her haste, she had not bothered searching for anyone's tracks but Hesh's. Her heart sank a little. _So after all this, he already has a partner. _She thought.

_And so do I. _She looked at the good-natured young man huffing and puffing in front of her.

"I'll wait for you," she said, sighing, "and we'll travel together. On the ground."

"Oh... that's jus' grand," Rhod said, looking relieved, "ah dinnae mind saying it. These here woods are hoora spooky." Azeban said nothing as she looked ahead at the shadows between the trees, imagining every dangling vine as a twitching tail. The two were in agreement on that.

Ahead, but not by much, Hesh chewed his lip as he tried to make the crane's wing marking look more angular. If he couldn't tell it apart from random cuts or damages the whole point was lost. Rip, having grown used to this exercise, was watching him over his left shoulder.

"So that's a feather?"

"Yes," Hesh growled. His bayonet slipped and the blade dashed past the skin of his fingers, making him pull his hand away from the tree-like he'd been burned. Rip leaned around him to investigate the result.

"Still looks like a-"

"Sword, Rip, I heard you the last time." Hesh's tone bordered on a scold, but he bit it down.

Hesh sheathed his bayonet, taking the lead once more as they soldiered through the heart of the Emerald Forest. Rip followed a few paces behind and watched his partner with unabashed curiosity.

The way he cocked his head for sounds and navigated tree roots without a stumble fascinated the city-boy. He wasn't at ease, even with Rip there to calm him, but there was a certain confidence Hesh carried himself with that seemed wholly different than when they'd first met. He'd somehow gotten 'in the zone.'

The reality of their situation was still sinking in and he hadn't quite dealt with the idea that this stranger would be living, studying, and fighting as his partner for the next four years.

_What do you even say in this situation? What kind of ice breakers do hunting partners use?_ Rip couldn't think of a solid answer, but he tried his luck with the first thing that came to mind.

"So, I'm gonna guess you went to a combat school, right?" Rip asked. Hesh almost laughed at the question but explaining the joke would have brought up his parents and their plans for his future, so he stuck with a smirk.

"No," Hesh replied with humility. Rip swatted at a mosquito buzzing around his earlobe and considered his words. Hesh seemed competent enough to imply some special training. Apparently, he had killed a Beowulf shortly before they met.

"Really? I was just guessing. You seem by the books," Rip said. Hesh continued without stopping to face his company.

"I've read many books about hunting Grimm, if that's what you mean." He snapped branches off when they were in his way while Rip settled for ducking underneath them.

"Same here," he said. " My master trained me in the back room of her flower shop where she kept her pet bugs. So yeah, homeschooled too."

"A flower shop owner had books on fighting Grimm?," Hesh asked.

"Well, she wasn't always in the horticulture business. I learned to fight from hand to hand stuff, not reading. Which, well, you saw how well that turned out for me earlier..." he trailed off. What Hesh said next shocked him.

"Scream next time," he began, "a war cry if you know one, or just shriek at the top of your voice. It'll get your blood pumping and help you move. Everyone needs to scream at first."

"Not you, apparently" Rip said through a weak laugh. Hesh chuckled along politely.

"The military trains you to act when you're scared, it's just replacing screaming in terror with pulling a trigger." Rip considered the wild-eyed alertness after the Furies had been slain.

"So then, the military trained you to fight Grimm?" he asked.

"No, sadly. The military devotes its fair share of training to that but, these days, it's all shock and awe. Bury the Grimm in enough lead until they stop moving."

"So then you had your own sort of flower shop, huh?" Rip said. He noticed a red dot crawling on his shoulder and lifted a finger to it, smiling as the ladybug's legs tickled the skin of his finger.

"I had a mentor," Hesh smiled as he thought of training with Corvo. "He was a friend of my dad's. They met during the Menagerie War." Rip alternated his fingers, keeping the insect from crawling down his gauntlets.

"You mean the Faunus Rights Revolution?" there was no malice intended in the words but they dug a hook into Hesh's skin anyway. He recalled his brush earlier with Maya while cracking a low branch off a little harder than necessary.

"Same thing," he said. Rip frowned at the back of Hesh's head. _Not really,_ he retorted only in his mind. He prayed to whoever was listening that Hesh's opinion of the Faunus wasn't malicious.

Living in the city meant sharing a sidewalk with angry bigots very often, and Rip had gotten used to it, but sleeping next to one for four years was a whole different story. Rip would never have pegged Hesh that way when he first found him wandering the forest, but he'd been unpleasantly surprised before.

_Relax, Rip. He just said his dad fought in it. And unless he's hiding a tail in his pants, you can guess which side his dad was on. _Rip resolved to leave the idea alone.

"So you were saying about this master of yours?" A smile crept onto Hesh's face again as he thought of the old training circle behind the manor, bathed in the orange glow of sunset. A cocky laugh or a firm instruction punctuated the hissing of metal on metal as their sabers collided.

"Master? I bet he'd get a kick out of that. Corvo is his name. He taught me how to use a saber, specifically a style called the 'Dance of Two Rivers'. It's a technique that…", Hessian's reverie ended as he remembered the lightness of his left side. "... that I'll be happy to show you when I get my saber back."

The awkward quiet crept back into the air. Rip wondered how best to keep the boy talking when the ladybug scaled his index finger and took wing. He remembered something about ladybugs that he'd picked up in Bolad Zi's shop. A ladybug will fly to the person you love the most and whisper your name in their ear. _Heads up, Roe._

His guts knotted themselves up as he thought about the Faunus. Rip tried to remind himself of the promise he made; to put his best foot forward and give being a Huntsmen a real try. But now he was trudging through an itchy jungle with awkward company, and the lack of Grimm encountered so far was starting to make him quietly jump at shadows.

"Stop." Hesh's hushed command made Rip worry that he had spotted something awful among the trees. No monster was in Hesh's sight, but a steady growl was ringing in his ear that sounded distant but mighty. His eyes stalked the increasingly dense forest with his pistol leveled and ready to point at any form of movement.

If a Grimm cared to emerge, it would soon find a bullet waiting for them. Rip was jittery as he watched Hesh sweep the woods with the barrel of a gun but he kept vigilant as well, cropping his ears open and listening for signs of life.

"Should we-" Rip silenced himself when Hesh waved his hand for quiet. Rip went back to listening and leaned forward. A humming noise was growing louder above the trees.

A confused grimace appeared on his face when he noticed the growing hum seemed familiar to him. Soon the hum was crisp and clear to the ears, and both the boys recognized what they were hearing. The purring of an aircraft engine.

The treetops began to spasm as the gray shape of a Bullhead dropship soared by, its noise turning to a deafening roar before disappearing as quickly as it came. Hesh relaxed his stance and let his pistol rest against his shoulder. A frown creased his face.

"So that's how we're getting out of here," he sighed. Rip grinned like a jack-o-lantern.

"Alright! Express trip back to the campus! No more screwing around in these stupid woods," he chirped. Hesh gave him a flat stare and Rip's smile shrunk as he realized his own words.

"Ah, right," he said, "your sword." Hesh turned away and drew his bayonet to make another marking.

"There much point to that now?"

"If not today," Hesh grunted as he worked, "I'll come back tomorrow and every day after that if I must." His patience had been worn to a single thread and he gouged the poor birch tree with his bayonet, finally stabbing the point deep into the wood. He tensed when two fingers tapped his shoulder.

"You break that thing and you're sunk," Rip's voice was stern but not devoid of sympathy. Hesh glared at the sloppy cuts of his butchered marking, then noticed Rip's open hand inviting him to relinquish his bayonet.

"Why don't you take five? I'll handle this one." Hesh nodded passed the bayonet over as he let his shoulders sag. He began to realize how tired he'd become. His last good night's sleep in a cozy bed had been days ago, and his spirit was buckling beneath the poor luck he'd had since initiation began.

The scolding of that senior hunter from yesterday had been quelled in his head since he met Rip, but the words weren't gone for good, and his poor skills at marking trees were making them ring clearer. He slumped onto his rear and crossed his legs as he watched Rip calmly chop at the bark of the tree in front of him.

"You probably think I'm off my rocker for caring about that sword so much," he laughed weakly while listening to the gentle scrape of his blade against wood.

"Actually, I was thinking it must've been a gift," Rip casually replied. Hesh once more found himself staring at the boy in wonder. Rip noted his expression and started to elaborate as he finished with the oakwood.

"Why else would you fight so hard for it?" he said as he examined the bayonet in his hand, as well as the gauntlet grasping it. Gifts were more than things. They were reminders. He twirled the bayonet once and presented it back to Hesh hilt first.

"What do you think?" he asked stepping away from the tree trunk with a hand motioning to the oak like a master of ceremonies. Hesh pouted as he saw what was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a crane wing.

"It's not bad," he sniffed, but Rip wasn't to be outdone.

"It's amazing what a clear head and patience can do, huh?" he elbowed Hesh's arm, "Anyway, we may as well mark our trail with some style while we go looking for that sword, right Hessian?"

Hesh's face went from relaxed by defeat to an amused grin in a single motion.

He remembered how thankful he was for having landed so close to someone like Rip, who's charity seemed so strangely endless. Even if the constant critique of his carving skills was getting old.

"Hesh," the young Crane replied, "just call me Hesh."

The boys both admired Rip's handiwork as an excuse for a breather, enjoying the relief in their muscles from pausing their hike. While they rested, the silence covering the woods had been too subtle to notice, and neither paid heed to the tree line as it began to stir in slight motions.

Blending seamlessly with the shadows were stalking Grimm, whose presence hushed the forest to an uneasy silence. They sniffed the dirt in their patrol until one caught wind of the boys and pointed at them with its snout. Rip had noticed the silence of the woods himself, but he hesitated to mention it to Hesh. He figured the Bullhead had simply scared all the birds away.

Farther away from the two were a pair of hiking Hunters; a pair cooperating with more trouble. Leading was Azeban, who was dragging herself across the forest in a weary slouch that would have made her grandmother livid. Exhausting her spirits was Rhod, who carefully trudged around roots and mounds at a steady speed while making an endless commentary.

"Ah'm sayin it right, right?" Rhod asked. Azeban shook her head but stayed vigilant for any more of Hesh's markings.

"There's an 'uh' sound between 'Az' and 'ban'. You are improving, though." she said.

"But I got 'Quinn" right!" he insisted. He snapped his fingers and grinned as inspiration struck him out of the blue.

"How bout 'Azzie' instead?" he suggested, quite pleased with himself. Azeban pulled a face like she'd swallowed a dung beetle.

"No," she curtly replied, "by no means ever call me that."

"Awright," Rhod said in a low grumble while he stroked his chin, "only trying to say yer name, partner_._ In a way that dinnae make me tongue-twisted." His pointed comment wasn't lost on her. Azeban sharpened her focus on the road ahead in hopes she could drown Rhod out with sheer force of will.

It wasn't working.

After her scare with Xanthus, she had been aching for company. Having someone watching her back, she figured, would soothe her nerves of being snuck upon. Rhod was starting to seem like a cruel joke-of-an-answer to her prayers.

"Ah maybe just call ye 'Quinn'. Would ye like tha'?" Azeban stopped and faced him with a flat stare.

"You want to know what I would like?" she whispered. Rhod frowned and took a step back as the memory of her fist against his jaw reasserted itself.

"Aye?" Rhod said uncertainty. Azeban made a zipping motion across her lips before twisting an invisible key and flicking it into the bushes. Rhod frowned.

"Ye dinnae like 'Quinn'. Ah get it." The claim made Azeban incandescent.

"I like my last name just fine!" she almost shouted, "I'm trying to focus! And you droning on and on is making that impossible!" Rhod folded his arms and scowled at her.

"Ye dinnae hafta holler a' me," he said, "ye dinnae deign to give me so much as a polite 'shut yer gob'. Ah figured ye just were not talkative."

"Of course I'm not talkative! We're in a forest full of Grimm!" she growled in a quieter tone. "I'm keeping quiet so I can hear them!" Rhod twisted his head to either side but all he could make out were the drones of cicadas and the rustle of leaves brushing each other in the breeze. He shrugged and shook his head.

"Ah dinnae hear a thing. Guess we be in the clear." Azeban collected her thoughts and took a breath before she answered. Maybe a little of her grandmother's wisdom would give this poor bahooka a chance at surviving the next hour.

"Maybe you're listening for the wrong things," she offered. "You need to listen for more than howls or footsteps." She paused when her ears caught a tender pair of hooves crushing leaves. A short distance from them was a grazing faun that froze in a stare after spotting them. Azeban smiled at it before continuing.

"Grimm aren't ghosts," she explained, "so any number of signs are a warning if the right Hunter catches them. The most obvious sign is always animals. If they turn quiet or start to run, it's because they sense something."

Azeban turned back to the faun who'd cautiously resumed eating. It brought its head back up and stared at her with widened eyes and a still body. Azeban smiled again, then suddenly folded her ears back like she was ready to pounce, widening her eyes and making a silly face.

The faun scampered between the trees and disappeared behind a thick bush. She turned back to Rhod satisfied, and nodded toward where the poor creature had vanished.

"They only run when they think there's danger. So when they do, you better know if it was you who scared them away or something else." Azeban explained with a subtle grin.

She was simply reciting what she'd been told a countless amount of times, but somehow she felt like a teacher and that feeling made her square up her shoulders with pride. Rhod stared at her expectantly until the silence cued him to respond.

"So…ow'd ah supposed to ken that? I cannae read their minds, and I dinnae exactly have eyes all o'er the shop either." Azeban rolled her eyes again, wondering if they'd unscrew from her head at this rate.

"You'll know if you pay close enough attention to your surroundings. That means no more staring at your feet all the time." Rhod let her little aside at him slide off his shoulders as he watched her curiously. Azeban inhaled deeply before she closed her eyes and exhaled quietly, absorbing the sounds of the forest.

She heard it all, from the rhythm of Rhod's lungs at work to the gentle rustling of the leaves sunbathing at the top of the canopy.

"Ah dinnae know," Rhod said from her left, "Ah cannae hear anything. Ah don't e'en know what ta listen fer." Without breaking her concentration, she whispered.

"Shhhhh. Silence your voice and your mind. First, you have to learn to listen."

Rhod closed his eyes and gave it his best go, but all he heard was his own nose whistling from his breath and the siren of cicadas in the treetops. He peeked at Azeban whose ears were erect atop her head. She looked like she'd fallen asleep.

"Oh, aye, ol' Rhod's the one needs listenin' advice," he mumbled. Azeban's ear twitched and her eyes shot open.

"Stop talking!" she hissed. Rhod threw his arms up.

"Awright , thank ye, Quinn," Rhod huffed, "finally Ah get two goddamn word out ye that Ah ken. Ah'm sorry about the thrice-damned dynamite, awright? Mayhaps-"

"Rhod!" she said through the corner of her mouth, ears swiveling. Her eyes were back toward the path onward, where Azeban's sensed something coming.

"Aye, aye," Rhod sighed, "Ah forget you want ta be called Azyban…or was it a capital A sound?" The Faunus whirled on him.

"Will you please just shut up for a minute and let me-" Her words were cut off when the distant noise grew into a steady roar that promised to get louder. Both of them looked to the treetops just in time to see a hunk of grey that rocketed by at blinding speeds, sending the leaves at the treetop fluttering to the ground.

"Well, Ah heard that a' least," Rhod said as he watched it vanish behind the trees. He heard the telltale scrape of his reluctant partner ascending a tree trunk. He looked her way and only saw a tail disappearing up a trunk.

"Again?! Hold ona moment! What's the plan?" he yelled but the girl was off like a shot. Her mind racing with the image of an ornery mob of Grimm. The airship would have stirred them up, and if Hesh's trail could be trusted, then he was walking into the thick of them.

"Wait up! Azeban!" Neither of them realized that he'd finally said it right.

Hesh fired rapidly at the encroaching Beowolf, counting his bullets as his magazine continued to drain. They'd been pincer ambushed, but the first two wolves had taken fatal hits to the throat and temple respectively. The last beast down his sights deflected a shot on his bone mask and took another to his shoulder with a muted effect. Hesh's eyes stayed focused, but panic was stirring in the back of his mind. He had no time to either reload or take a steady shot, so his finger kept pulling the trigger.

Rip, for his part, was rooted to the ground in horror. The Furies had been vaguely bird-shaped, and he'd only glimpsed them momentarily. These new beasts were straight from the gibbering mind of a nightmarish storyteller. Their eyes burned bright even at a distance, and their catching claws and teeth were long as reeds and curved like devil horns. The final Beowolf continued to stampede toward them, and Rip helplessly watched how its bloated muscles flexed beneath its coat of fringed and patchy black fur.

He'd heard about them from Bolad Zi a thousand times and practiced his take-down technique twice as much. But as Martian the Wanderer intoned, he was far from prepared to see one. Rip's mind was frozen in fear and confusion. Even the best photos and sketches of these beasts did nothing to show how alien they looked; how unnatural they seemed compared to the animals they resembled.

It was a short distance from the two when Rip's ears began to notice the sound of Hesh's pistol firing over and over. Recalling his partner's suggestion, he screamed louder than ever in his life. His entire body suddenly moved on instinct, every minute of his training coming to the forefront of his mind. Shoving Hessian out of the way, he snatched an extended paw by the wrist, and Rip's deft fingers twisted the limb until a loud snap left it limp.

Rip let go and doubled away before the monster had a chance to grasp him and assumed the mantis stance. The Beowulf turned its attention to him with a snarl, one arm hanging uselessly by its side. It lunged at him with a vicious swipe. Rip moved his arms in fluid patterns. His left one swatted away the Grimm's good arm while his right drove its heel into the Beowulf's jaw, splintering it with one aura-bolstered strike. The Grimm growled weakly as its maw dangled open, a bolt of lightning from Rip's gauntlet having left it dazed and numb.

As it staggered backward in a series of spasms, Rip strode forward and gripped the Beowulf's head in both his hands before giving it a swift twist. The Beowulf slumped dead at Rip's feet, the boy's heavy breathing the only sound in the clearing. His throat hurt from screaming. He kept his breathing in good form but the adrenaline in his blood made his fingers twitch.

"That…," Hesh said from the ground, eyes huge, "...how did you…"

Howling came from the heart of the woods as the Beowulf's company called to each other. Hesh leaped to his feet and grabbed Rip's elbow, dragging him to a copse of Ash trees. He shoved him first in between a collection of slender trunks weaving together and then squeezed in behind him. Motioning to Rip with a finger to his lips, he peeked out at the Grimm's dissolving bodies.

They heard the sound of paws hitting the dirt intermixed with wet growls. They moved too quickly to count and circled their dead brother's body with their snouts in the dirt like bloodhounds seeking criminals. Hesh held his breath when the largest among them emerged.

Nine feet of black fur and bone rose up on its hind legs and ripped the sky with its howl. It held itself steady and collected, more composed than all others in its pack. As it surveyed the forest around them, a powerful presence from somewhere far away saw through its eyes, commanding it to stay in formation. _To root them out and kill. _

It brayed a long, steady howl that was not entirely its' own; one made tempered and disciplined by the stronger will of a much older, mightier Grimm. The others turned their faces upwards and joined in a chorus of baying that degraded into hateful barks. Rip breathed heavy as the fragile confidence he'd just won drain out of him. He wanted to go home and hide under his bed. The sound was too terrible to believe. Even Hesh seemed shaken by the noise.

"Hesh," Rip whispered, "what do we do?" Hesh stared at the Beowulves with naked fear. Sunlight hit him in the eye and made him squint. He shook his head, and the light abated. He peered into the trees for its source and saw a friendly face.

Azeban was perched in the treetops. She used the flat of her glaive to get his attention. The Faunus raised six fingers twice and then pointed an index finger to the sky. Hesh gripped his bayonet tight. Thirteen. She pointed to herself and upwards into the branches.

The girl ascended higher while her mind raced through every way this could go wrong. Their best hope was to creep away before the Grimm caught their scent and attacked. She'd never taken on this many Beowulves at once. She crept into the branches of another tree while the monsters rooted for a scent.

Below her, Rhod was crouched in the brush, trying not to breathe too loud. Azeban hadn't even spared him an explanation and now she was crawling further into the forest. His opinion of her was becoming more bittered by the second as she went her own way.

Perhaps it was the Dust residue left by Rip's gauntlets or it could have been the lingering smell of gunpowder from Hesh's pistol that the Alpha smelled. Maybe it was the salt of their sweat as it zigzagged down their backs whenever one of the packs passed the boys' hiding spot. Red eyes glowed with malice and its neck bristled with black fur as it growled at the copse of trees.

A single Beowulf caught wind of its leader's thoughts and rushed the trees. Hesh and Rip pressed their bodies to the sides as it nosed between the trees with a muzzle too large to fit.

Rip hugged his legs and trembled at the sight of its fangs stripping bark of the trunks.

The rest of the pack formed a semicircle around their leader, glaring at the boys' hiding place. Hesh slotted a new magazine of fire dust into his gun, only a few left on his belt, and came up with a risky plan. He clenched his bayonet in his right hand and pointed his pistol at the Grimm's snout. Its teeth snapped, dark drool flinging out at him and thin tongue lashing the air in delight.

"Rip," Hesh rasped, "cover your ears and get ready to run." He put trusted his aura and jammed most his gun inside the creature's snapping jaws. The Beowulf's movements halted and it growled as the voice entered its ears. Rip clamped his hands tight on either side of his head. Hesh squeezed the trigger and all hell broke loose.

The body, minus a good portion of its upper skull, splayed out on its back. Hesh and Rip were staggered by the close burst of fire, their aura's took the brunt of the burn but Hesh felt the heat all along his arm and chest. The pack leader howled and the pack attacked as one. The copse was surrounded before the boys could even remember to flee, and Hesh cursed his foolishness. The pack of them hunched their backs forward, barking ferociously as their claws raked the ground, getting ready for a collective pounce.

"I'm sorry, Rip," Hesh said, "I thought we'd have enough time to get away."

Rip wanted to go home. _Only way home is through them or in a box. _The idea was simple and stronger than he thought himself capable of. _Man, this is going to suck. _ Rip cracked his knuckles and began batting away the arms as Hessian squeezed the hilt of his bayonet and the trigger of his pistol. Their choices had become fight or die.

Azeban counted eight of the monsters crowding the Ash copse while the Alpha and four others hung back at the edge. She judged the distance to the immense Beowulf and readied her glaive. A dozen leaderless Beowulves was worth the risk.

"This one's for you, grandma," she whispered, "if I die, let it be known; you were a pain in the ass." The branch groaned under her feet and she broke into the sunlight in a flurry of green leaves. She floated above the battle and saw the massive Alpha lift its head in her direction. It bared its fangs but did not move.

Spotted too early, she tried her luck and released her semblance, falling towards him with a high-pitched war screech and her glaive aimed down his gullet. A monstrous paw moved lightning-fast and swatted her aside like a gnat. She yelped as she hit the dirt, tucked and rolled backward before springing to her feet. Already, she was surrounded by four of the Beowulves. The Alpha approached slowly and locked its eyes on hers.

She spun her glaive once and all the Grimm scurried back into formation. She twirled her weapon again in a spiral as she tried to find an opening to escape. She felt the spike and blade catch flesh a few times but nothing fatal. They had her boxed in tight.

Rhod rose from the bushes and surveyed the scene. Azeban was trapped and a massive pack of the Grimm continued to attack a copse of Ash trees for some reason. Clearly, the time for stealth had passed. That was fine with him. He pressed a kiss to the head of his hammer, then gagged. Still tasted like mildew.

He popped the muscles in his neck and barreled into the clearing. Azeban caught sight of a Grimm turning around as a sharp whistle pierced the air. Rhod's hammer smashed its jaws and scattered the teeth in its mouth to the wind.

When the rest of them turned to him, Azeban brought her glaive around and opened the jugular of the Beowulf next to it. She had her opening.

The girl flipped over the dying Grimm and landed next to her partner, who nodded at her. Azeban remembered her training and tried to share the lessons.

"Back up, back up! Don't let them surround you!" The two apprentices used hammer and glaive to back the two wolves away as their comrades struggled to hold their ground. The leader, standing tall and imposing, reared above the pair with claws at the ready. It summoned two of the Beowulves from the group attacking Rip and Hesh.

"What's happening out there?" Rip hissed as he cold clocked a Beowulf in the face, sending electrified shivers down the monster's spine. Hesh sliced a finger off a paw clutching at his cheek. They'd merely held back their attackers as the Beowulves, flogged but alive, continued to rise up and fight some more. If some were falling back, It must've been Azeban's doing, but he wondered how she could fight them all off by herself.

"A friend came to our rescue," he said with a smile. "We need to get out there and back her up." Hesh reloaded his pistol. "I can clear an exit for you."

"Hang on," Rip said as he broke a black-furred arm at the elbow, "I think I can get us both out." He twisted the wrist guards of his gauntlets and they began to glow blue with electric power. He snatched two Beowulf hands at the wrist and twisted them behind the monster's backs.

"Right or left?" he asked through clenched teeth. Hesh stared at him in confusion.

"Right or left?" he repeated with greater force.

"Uh-Right!" The lightning in Rip's gloves shot up the arms of both Grimm and hit their brains simultaneously. Hesh shielded his eyes from the explosion of light.

Two smoking carcasses fell away from the trees and the boys emerged into the clearing. Rip backpedaled from one of their remaining attackers, deflecting its blows but achieving little else, the lightning in his gauntlets having drained away.

"Four left!" Hesh shouted as he blew out the heart of the Beowulf with the broken arm, shielding his face from the fire with one hand.

"Make that three!" he laughed. Over his shoulder, he caught sight of Rip holding another Beowulf in place as he battered it with a flurry of punches. The beast slunk from his grasp lifeless, but Rip was assaulted by two wulves at once before he could soak in the victory.

"Oh," Rip grunted as he shoved his attackers back with his shoulder, "that all?" Hesh strode up to one and stabbed his bayonet between the monster's shoulder blades. When it spun around with a swipe he ducked under and delivered a punch to its armored face. His knuckles quickly went numb with pain, making him flinch. The Grimm took a quick second pass at Hesh with a mighty bite meant for the boy's neck. Off-balance, the boy tumbled onto his back.

Coming to the boy's rescue, Rip struck at points along the monster's spine. Without a sound, the beast's arms went rigid and it froze in place. He yanked out Hesh's bayonet and drove it into the creature's eye before turning to handle the one rushing his back.

Hesh rose to his feet. The Beowulf before him growled between its pitiful twitches as its body remained paralyzed and the knife remained in its socket. Hessian retrieved his bayonet and dashed the blade across its neck, sending it to the ground. He spotted Rip holding his own Wulf at bay and aimed at the back of its neck. When he took a shot, a smattering of blood sprayed Rip in the face before the beast slouched away.

"Oh," Rip moaned, "God. What is this stuff?" He heaved a little while wiping it from his face.

"Should have just stabbed him in the brain," Hesh panted, "you had the opening."

"Hey, 'aim for the soft bits' is a universal tip, boxing champ," Rip managed after he finished gagging, "How broken is your hand?" Hesh couldn't hide a whimper as his aura mended his knuckles without softening the pain, but he put on the best face he could.

"It's fine," he replied, "I hope you have more Dust, the battle is not yet won." Hesh loaded another round into his pistol, growing anxious at his ammo count. Rip replaced his Dust capsules.

"I'll make every grain count," he said as his gloves sparked.

"six left," Hesh muttered as they entered the clearing, "not including the leader." The giant Beowulf had stayed back for much of the fight, surveying the younger ones as it commanded them to attack. It turned its eyes on them and crouched on all fours, its muscles coiling up beneath its fur.

"It may have heard you," Rip whispered.

As the leader broke away from its pack, Azeban and Rhod felt the pressure ease up only a little. They had been backed up to the tree-line. The hope had been to lead the group of them away and buy the boys some time. The toothless Beowulf hounded Rhod with a vengeance, a second Wulf always at its side. They seemed determined to lunge out in waves. Even as the two's auras ate most blows, some broke through with increasing, worrying, frequency.

Azeban sported a gash on her upper right arm and Rhod's hand had been chewed on for one horrifying moment. He was holding out, but a red stain had appeared along the cuff of his flannel shirt. He wasn't actively bleeding. The Grimm who'd tried that had gotten its faceplate cracked for the effort. Spying the Alpha as it stalked around the boys, Rhod realized it left for what seemed like the weaker kill.

"Get ta yer mate," Rhod said, "Ah'll settle with these 'uns." Azeban's eyes flicked down to the boy's injured hand.

"I can't abandon you!" she hissed.

"Aye, that'd be a first, tha' it'd be," he chuckled then grunted as he muscled a Beowulf back. Azeban's face flushed.

"I was being stupid, Ok! But you could die here!" She cried out just as a smaller Wulf made a risky lunge at her and lost an arm for it.

"Mayhaps all o' us die here," Rhod growled, "mayhaps we wont. But if ya keep chatterin 'stead o' fighting, we die here fer sure!" Toothless tried his luck one last time and Rhod's hammer drove the Beowulf to its knees. A powerful swing cracked its skull and ended its life.

"Yer mate be the one that Alpha's goan after, aye?" His lungs sounded like overworked bellows as he spoke.

"Yes." She said.

"Good, get him tha' thrice-damned sword," Rhod squared his shoulders and bent his knees.

"Thank you, Rhod, for all your help," Azeban said as she crouched down into a runner's stance.

"Well, dinnae say 'away an' fare-ye-well', lass! Ye might jinx me." he said growled with an uneasy smile. The Faunus breathed deep as she readied herself.

Rhod twirled his hammer and rushed the line of Grimm. Arms extended, he took two down with a clothesline. The other two, on their feet in a flash, tried to mob him from all sides.

Just before their rows of teeth all closed the gap between his neck, he brought his arms around them all in a bear hug and used his semblance.

They all hit the ground in a mighty thud, the beasts anchored to his chest by two frozen arms heavy as a brick wall. They ruefully scratched at his skin and bit on his arms in a desperate attempt to wriggle free. His aura shimmered with every hit and gnaw.

Azeban raced away from the frenzy and shortened her glaive. She got her revenge on the Alpha as she slid between its legs and sliced clean through one of its tendon's in a swift motion.

The beast tried to give chase but it's gashed leg failed under the weight of its torso and it tumbled to the ground, wailing. As furious thoughts filled its mind, the grasp of the faraway Elder began to waver. It turned a bright, scornful eye to the young warriors, its patience for tactics starting to give way.

Azeban skidded to a halt next to Hesh and wordlessly handed him the Finalword. For a second, Hessian Crane forgot about the fray of the battle unfolding before him as he gripped his saber once again. His heart lifted and he pulled the blade free with a powerful swing.

"I'd love to explain just how much you owe me," Azeban said, "but my partner's getting mobbed by those Beowulves for this." Hesh watched the light dance along his sword and his reflection in the blade smiled. With the push of a hidden trigger, the sword's blade hissed and extended until it reached a longsword's length. He wrapped both hands around the blade's hilt while smiling.

"We can kill the Alpha," he said with no doubt, "get back to your friend when we attack." Rip, who had been busy taking in the sight of the Faunus warrior, stared at Hesh with wide eyes.

"Take his left arm and I'll go for the right." Rip nodded. "Azeban, if you're willing to run back between his legs-"

"I can even out his limp," she growled.

"Excellent," Hesh said.

"Hang on," Rip glanced between them, "shouldn't there be more to this plan?" He asked while watching the Alpha rise back up on all fours. Recoiling its leg, it turned its tail to keep balance and watched them all with a frothing mouth.

"Yea. Aim for the fleshy bits. We break on three."

"One." Azeban bared her teeth at the Alpha as it began its approach, albeit with a slight stumble.

"Two." Rip's gauntlets flared with lightning as he swallowed his fear. The beast reared its head back and made a roar that sounded less like a howl and more like a maddened scream. It charged forward relentlessly.

"Three!" Hesh bounded towards the monster's flailing right paw. He pirouetted out of its grasp, raking the Finalword across the air and slicing off three of its massive fingers. The beast screeched at the pain and halted its charge to turn toward the boy, ignoring his company.

Before it could dip its head to bite, Rip collided with the Alpha's left side, maneuvering under its wrist to strike at its arm in quick succession. His fingers, held like mantis hooks, traveled up to the forearm to its elbow. The monster's hand draped down from its shoulder and twitched uselessly as it tried to clench its fist.

Furious, the alpha spun in a swinging motion trying to swat Rip away with its numbed paw, but Rip ducked and rolled from harm's way. Rising in the mantis stance like he'd been taught.

Azeban took her chance and slid on her knees between its legs, whooping in victory as she sliced through its other tendon. As a finale, she extended her glaive and took off the monster's tail with a graceful swing before sprinting off for her partner.

Rhod's pupils dilated as he watched the relentless biting and clawing of the remaining Beowulves from behind unblinking eyes. Two had suffocated beneath his grasp, or perhaps broken their necks with their own thrashing, but the remaining two had given up trying to break free in exchange for clamping their mouths to Rhod's neck, waiting for him to let his semblance go.

He couldn't breathe. Breathing meant releasing his semblance, and letting the Wulves loose on his neck. There'd be nothing between the pack and him if he did, but there was no denying his need for air either. '_Spose it was always gon' te end tis way. _He thought ruefully. _Ye niver been naething else but a Dust miner, Rhod. _The boy tried to envision home with his final moments before the curved blade of a glaive slid into view, hooked both Grimm by their throats, and slit them. Rhod broke free with a mighty gasp, followed by a coughing fit.

"Keep it on its hind legs, they'll buckle in a minute!" Hesh shouted as he dropped to avoid a swipe of the Alpha's mutilated paw.

Rip darted in from the left and struck the monster's pectorals with a series of shocking strikes. He jumped back to avoid getting his head bitten off and felt himself crushed between two forearms as thick as metal girders.

His arms were pinned and the pressure on his torso became suffocating. The Alpha huffed and snatched him in his mighty left paw, clutching him by the sides like a doll. The Alpha squeezed the air from his lungs.

His aura glowed a vivid violet and broke beneath the strength of the monster's grip. The beast squeezed tighter, and Rip felt like he was being turned flat. The edges of his vision became dark. His spine began to ache and the pain made all his courage leave him. He screamed in his mind the words he couldn't speak_. No. Not again. I can't go back in that chair. _

_Master…somebody…help me._

The sight of Rip not moving made Hessian fear the worst. He danced around the slash of the Alpha's right paw while quickly drawing his pistol and shortening his saber to a dagger's length.

He fired a round through the beast's paw and lunged forward with a thrust of his saber, sending his blade into the newly made wound. A pull of the trigger and his blade shot past bones and flesh, emerging from the beast's palm. The creature planted the fist-clenching Rip on the ground as it wrestled with Hesh for control of its impaled hand.

Growing exhausted, the beast could hardly resist as Hesh aimed the saber's tip at its torso and pulled the trigger again. The blade doubled in length a second time and entered the monster's belly. Pierced in two places, the Alpha roared in pain as Hesh turned away from his blade and reached behind his head to clench his sword's hilt with both hands.

He pulled the blade upward relentlessly until the Finalword was torn loose, leaving the beast with a mangled paw and open stomach. The Alpha's roar peaked shrilly, but even with gaping wounds in the torso and wrist, the monster wouldn't let Rip go.

The beast eyed Rhod and Azeban advancing on it and swung its dismembered paw, but Azeban sliced hard enough to separate it from the wrist. It tried to use Rip like a club but couldn't move its weight fast enough to strike her. The beast leaned up and locked eyes with a furious Rhod who was daring it to strike. The Alpha barked, then parted its jaws to tear off the face of the human staring it down.

Its' fangs found only air and with a bash of weighty steel to the back of its neck, the Alpha flopped forward on the flat of its stomach. It looked at the human in its paw and began to squeeze with all its remaining strength.

Hesh pressed his boot to its cheek and stepped down remorselessly. It swiveled one eye up at him as he loomed over it and raised the saber above his head. For a moment, as the Grimm stared into Hesh's eyes, he noted the strange serenity behind its stare. The hate it had been burning with was momentarily gone, and instead, something else watched him, studying him carefully. The look in its eyes made Hesh falter for a moment, his hands shaking from a deep, instinctive fear.

But then they steadied and brought down the Finalword.

A geyser of blood shot out from the stump of its neck and Hesh gave the head a vicious kick to send it rolling in the dirt. The great body twitched in a spasm that made the hand trapping Rip at first tense tighter and nearly break one of his ribs. Then it unfolded slowly and the boy fell onto his side, his body limp.

Hesh raced to his side and unstrapped Rip's chest armor. He pressed his ear to the barely rising chest and sighed when he heard air flooding his partner's abused lungs.

"Rip?" a thick brogue asked from behind him. Hesh turned his head to take in a yellow giant. Azeban rushed up to his side, her black hair plastered to her neck by blood.

"Oh no. Hesh. Is he…?" she couldn't bring herself to finish the question.

"Let him have some room, he needs to breathe," Hesh said.

"Does he need CPR?" the large teen knelt down at his side in defiance of Hesh's orders.

"No," Hesh said sternly, "he's awake, but he needs space. I've got it covered…" Rhod whipped off his helmet and scowled at him.

"Oh aye, you done a hoora good job of covering him, sword-boy! He's prolly got a collapsed lung!" Rhod shoved Hesh backwards. He may not have intended it but he planted the young Crane on his back.

"Rhod, settle!" Azeban shouted. Rhod didn't spare her a glance as he pressed his ear to Rip's chest, his face pinched as he listened to the boy's heartbeat. The muscles in his face relaxed and he looked twenty years older as he sat up.

"He's awright." Rhod sighed. Azeban knelt next to Hesh and helped him up.

"Like I said," Hesh ground out through his teeth as he leaned up on his elbows. Azeban slapped his shoulder and gave him a fierce glare.

"Both of you cool off." She hissed in pain as her aura sowed the skin of her arm shut. Rhod and Hesh both made similar noises as their aura's glowed gold and gray respectively. Azeban whispered a 'thank-you' as she saw the battered boy's aura glow a beautiful shade of purple.

"Can one of you tell me his name?"

"Rip," the voice was a croak. All three heads turned to the boy's face, which had gone from serene to wrinkled in pain. Azeban leaned over him, her frayed braids dangling by his face. She smiled as he cracked his eyelids.

"Pleased to meet you, Rip. My name's Azeban."

"'Azeban'. That's a pretty name,' Rip mumbled softly, watching her raccoon ears move to catch his ragged voice. She giggled.

"Why thank you, Rip. I like your name too. Can I do anything to help?"

"Sure," Rip groaned, "stand me up, please. I think I'm about to hurl." Her hands slid under his shoulders and raised him into a sitting position. Rhod took his left side and Hesh went his right. Rip's body swayed for a moment, supported on each angle but his front. The three held him firm until he took a few shuddering breathes and nodded at them to let him stand unaided.

"Okay I think…" he began. His face went green and Hesh caught him as he started to tumble over. He coughed up a mouthful of stomach acids once at the ground near Hesh's boots. Rhod thumped him on the back to help him along, then rubbed his shoulder soothingly.

"'M' Sorry, Hesh," he mumbled. His ears burned and he looked away. Hesh kept him standing by shifting him against his left shoulder.

"Azeban, there's water on my belt," he commanded, "give him a sip." Rip's chin was tilted up by two fingers and the cool liquid slid down his throat. The fire his stomach acid left behind was extinguished as the strength returned to his limbs. Rip finally stood on his own, though his three new friends kept only a few inches away in case he fell again.

"Feel better?" Azeban asked, her smile easy and unobstructed by the awkwardness of the scenario or the sight of Rip barfing. Rhod retrieved his helmet and tapped Rip's shoulder with his elbow.

"Ah, this 'uns tougher than a rubber wellie," he said with a mile-wide grin. The Atlasian's eyes fell on Hesh and his smile shrank out of shame.

"Ah owe you a 'sorry', friend, I got a bit of a temper," he glanced at Azeban, "me first impressions leave a hoora lot to be desired." Azeban's ears folded back and she wrung her hands.

"Well," she said, "I wasn't exactly little miss sunshine towards you this morning. I couldn't have handled all those Beowulves by myself…"

"Ah," Rhod waved his hand, "I'd be skewered on some Boar's nose by now if'n you hadnae stepped in when you did." Hesh smiled and added his voice.

"I have trouble keeping a cool head myself, though Rip here has been a great help," he extended his hand to Rhod, "and I assume those Beowulves didn't kill themselves." Rhod laughed and shook his hand.

"And?" Azeban teased. Hesh rubbed his chin in mock thought, then shrugged. "Can't think of anyone else?"

"Of course," he said with a casual glance at her, "thank you, Azeban." His face split into a smile as he began to laugh. Azeban gasped as he picked her up in a bear hug.

"You ace!" He twirled her around once and she found herself laughing with him. The dizziness in Rip's head was subsiding, letting him notice Hesh in his display with Azeban.

"Oh, good, you aren't racist." The words slipped out of his mouth by accident in a queasy mumble. His senses returned to him like a reflex, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, but the words had been quiet enough to miss everyone's ears. The three of them all turned his way.

"Say something, mate?" Rhod innocently asked. Rip smiled and waved them away.

"No. It's nothing. Keep having fun without me." Hesh released Azeban and walked over to Rip's side. He patted him gently on the back with a smile as Rip returned the canteen.

"We should move on together," Hesh said, "in case any other packs of Beowulves come stumbling into us."

"Tough fight, aye," Rhod mused, "mayhaps hoora tough fer new students, innit?"

"We survived," Rip said, "I mean don't throw a parade or anything but...it has to be on the up-and-up."

"I wonder," Azeban said. She scanned the sky, eerie in its casual shade of summery blue. Her eyes widened as a pair of flares shot up into the sky. One further toward the ruins...and another much closer to them. Hesh had seen it too.

"Did someone just forfeit?" he asked. All four of them watched in shock as the sky suddenly swarmed with black shapes.

"Into the trees!" Azeban hissed. When they'd dived into the cover of the closely growing oaks they watched a hundred Furies descend onto their battleground. They squawked, almost in a confused, question way, at the evaporating puddles of their brethren. They hopped and flapped their wings. They turned their beaks skyward and called at the shifting mass of the flock.

"Oh no," Rip hissed, "these assholes again?"

"Again?" Rhod asked. The answer he got was distance fighting, gunshots mostly, from the direction of the closer flare. A few Furies cocked their heads against the chatter of their brothers.

All fell silent when an echoing wail filled the whole world like the cry of a ghost.

The Furies took wing in a sudden cacophony of shrieks. The flock whirled and pitched towards the noise.

In the lingering quiet of the woods, four pairs of eyes exchanged frightened, uncertain glances.

It was Hesh who spoke first.

"What in the world was that?"

_**Editor Note:**_

_**Hello all, this is the editor popping in to say a special thank you to Temujin for giving HARQ its first-ever review! We sincerely appreciate the generous feedback and are glad to know where we've done well and where we can still improve.**_

_**As usual, all forms of feedback are welcome, be they a generous review like Temujin's or a simple 'Yay!' or 'Nay!' so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	9. On the Verge of Truth

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

xxx

"Damn every last stinking one of you," Feral mumbled at the leering Imps above him. He'd made three circuits around the perimeter of the Eldritch Manor to no avail. He could take solace that every Imp holding the two of them prisoner was one less amongst the children. The new students had likely no idea to watch for them.

He found Oakley pacing in the remains of the old garden, chewing her thumbnail.

"'Antlers'?" she said, eyes lighting up with a terrible epiphany.

"What?" Feral said. She flapped a hand at him, her face contorting briefly with anger and fear.

"If it was near the ruins, then all bets are off, Ozpin," she said, "you need to get them out of there." Feral's stomach dropped as he heard this. All their fears were coming true.

"No, no Ozpin, not just the warbird, you need to send everybody!" Oakley said. "Get Port and Oobleck, maybe even have Grant strap up. Wake some fourth-years up too. If...oh, do not give me that!" Her yell got the Imps chattering with excitement.

_Just you wait,_ Feral thought, _you little turds will get yours before the afternoon ends._

"We are trapped, Ozpin! And we've been hunting since before dawn. Even if you could get us out of this we'd be exhausted and at least an hour away from the ruins." Feral strained his ears to hear Ozpin's response. Whatever he said made her face fall.

"If it's what I think it is...if it's a Wechuge, Ozpin, then we're on a timer to get them out alive. If you've got an idea to get us out, go for it, but if you're doing things this way because York is here… you will answer for it. Understood?" She listened, mutely, to whatever else the headmaster had to say and hung up.

"Wechuge?" Feral asked.

"A once in a lifetime mess is what this is," Oakley fired back. She dug into her pocket but found her pack of Deadwoods empty. Her off hand slid a spare cigarette from her hat and popped it in her mouth. "They're in sync now, all of them," she said between grit teeth, "We left that goddamn menace to wander for too goddamn long, and now it's got all of 'em goddamn grouped up!"

She swore harder as the lighter sparked from her jittering thumb. Feral's gnarled hand held her wrist to stop the shaking.

"So we're not only dealing with an old Grimm," Feral said. No response again. Feral exhaled while wiping his fingers across his big forehead. "Oakley, is there anything else we know about this Grimm?" The Huntress' blew out smoke like a steam engine.

"Faster than it looks, likes smashing machinery, good at camouflage, and patient. It'll lay low until the time is right and charge you from cover. I've seen one…skewer people." The next cloud of tobacco came out with a shudder. She suddenly turned to march off in a huff but Feral grabbed her shoulder. The two locked eyes in a blink and stared each other down like ornery animals.

"Something wrong, Feral?" Oakley grunted. Feral allowed a small pause before he spoke in a low and steady tone.

"I don't know, is there? You've been off all morning since we found that hole in the fence. And I'm not talking about your aim." When Oakley responded, she'd rediscovered her anger.

"Is this what we're coming too, Feral? Ozpin is acting like the school's ceiling will come crashing down if we toe one foot out of line! And now we're being sent around like black-op goons to clean up this mess and it just keeps getting uglier!" Oakley ranted at a volume just below a scream. She leaned against a tree again and rubbed one of her temples before taking a breather.

Feral's stare softened while he heard out his colleague. The sympathy in his gut made him wish he had a proverb for the situation, but he only offered an apologetic grimace. Oakley herself looked defeated, her face withering from exhaustion beneath a layer of blood and grime. The two stood in silence for a moment as they listened to the ambient noise of the forest.

"Is that really what being a Hunter means now? This selection is where I met some good friends," she said with a softer voice and a smile, "at that first meal we had in the dining hall together, I met Crazy Jane. She gave me my first cigarette on the roof of our dorms." Oakley ran her thumb over the worn lighter's initials. Feral took a seat near her on a dry boulder.

"Shade sets you lose in a canyon with a flare, food, flint, or tinder. You find four people who can make a complete set and spend the night in the wilderness." He couldn't finish the story before Oakley started laughing.

"I remember you telling me this," she said, "Ghillie wore his camo suit to sleep and you tripped over him!" she started to snicker as Feral picked up the story.

"'Why are you wearing that, dumbass?! I couldn't see you' and he goes 'That's the point!'" Oakley laughed until she leaned backward too far and dropped her cigarette on the forest floor. Her fall was what got Feral laughing, or rather the face she made when it slipped from her fingers. She smiled even as she flipped him off.

The Imps began to gibber again, reacting to their noise. Oakley turned her hand to them in defiance. Feral joined in with both hands.

"When we get free of this and kill their boss," he said, voice little more than a growl, "I'll skin them all."

"Get in line," Oakley said. The Hunters waited, worrying and impatient, for the moment they could strike.

xxx

Far off, at the highest point of a healthy spruce, Azeban surveyed the woods from her seat in a cradle of branches. She lazily gazed at the distance in a half-hearted effort to spot their objective, feeling burnt out in body, spirit, and aura altogether.

The four of them had had been making slow progress since they'd first assembled. She'd volunteered to check their progress from the top of the tree but what she was seeing didn't help much.

Up at the tree canopy, the view of Emerald Forest seemed much larger than it had from the airship; thick waves of trees that rolled into the horizon like a sea. The city was closer now, but beyond that she couldn't see anything to act as a landmark.

Her position in the tree was making her sleepy. Her arms ached from climbing and her feet hurt from running. Everything else throbbed with the exertion of combat. It would be easy to drift off for a minute, rest her eyes against the unforgiving sun.

The sound of a shaking branch made her eyes snap open. She looked to her lower right and found a lanky figure making uncertain movements toward her. Her heart leapt in surprise as she recognized the figure as Rip. The boy took frightened gulps of air and his left hand squeezed a thick branch while his right hand fished at his belt.

"They… sent me...to give you this." Rip sputtered as he handed Azeban a set of binoculars. She grasped him by his wrist and hoisted him to her perch in the trees, helping him find a spot among the branches he could sit in comfortably. The boy drew air frantically while they did so, eventually settling when he sensed his seat wasn't giving way under him. He kept his eyes pointed away from the ground and exhaled before turning to Azeban.

"So. How's the weather up here?" He chirped with a strained smile. She giggled at him.

"Quite pleasant, if you don't mind the heat. Thank you. How are you doing down there?" She watched Rip struggle to hold a straight face. He made some quick nods while replying.

"You know… trying to stay busy. Keeping our eyes peeled for anything trying to freakin' eat us. Hesh found those on his belt and I wanted to run them up to you." He finished the thought and licked his lips while daring a peek down at the ground. His eyes flew away from the sight and squeezed shut. He reached out and clutched neighboring branches for support.

"Relax, Rip. I'll catch you if you slip." Rip wrenched his eyes open and saw Azeban leaning toward him from her spot. Her eyes stared straight into his as she hung from an overhead branch with one hand while resting her other on his shoulder. "I've saved each of my brothers from much higher falls than this. If you start falling, I'll grab you. Ok?" She assured him. Rip nodded at her and his shoulders dropped.

"Thanks, Azeban." He finally exhaled.

"You know, as much as I appreciate your help, I could have just climbed back down if you'd called for me. You didn't have to come all the way up here." Rip nodded, clinging to his branch like a frightened kitten.

"Yeah, I'll keep that one in mind next time we gotta climb real, real, tall stuff. At least I won't volunteer for it."

Azeban peeked into the binoculars to see a mess of blurred colors. She fiddled with the dial wedged between the two lenses, but the dial seemed glued in place from age.

"You volunteered to climb a tree and run me these? That was nice of you," she said. She put more of her arm into turning the dial and it finally popped audibly out of place, turning with ease.

"No big deal. It's not the first time I've ever gone climbing. Just the first tree." He added cutely, "And I wanted something to do anyway, it was getting real boring down there."

"Sorry, I'm holding all of us up at this point. I might need to switch trees. This one isn't tall enough to see the ruins from here."

She put all her frustration into a long sigh, stretching her limbs in odd directions while her body stayed perfectly balanced on its' branch. Rip saw her move and wondered. Azeban had balance and confidence at high heights like a tightrope walker. She sat at the top of a mile-high tree as comfortably as he sat in his favorite comfy chair.

"How'd you learn to climb trees, by the way? You're weirdly good at it." The question made Azeban grin wide with pride. She winked at him before answering.

"You learn how eventually where I come from. My family lives near a big forest in Mistral. Like, really big. Grimm are always around, so everyone is responsible for staying vigilant. We all learn how to spot from up high while we're kids." She grinned at how the story had come out. Most of it was true and it jumped off the tongue seamlessly. Her lying skills were getting better with practice, which was strange thing to feel proud about, but she still considered it a win. Rip swayed slightly in his seat while he pondered the idea.

"So what's it called?" Rip asked. Azeban's mind went blank. She lowered the binoculars and tried not to let panic creep into her voice.

"Oh…its called…," she said, mind racing, "uuh, aha, I'm blanking for some reason! Long day.. It's called…Woods…Ville. Yes. Woodsville. That's where I'm from. Woodsville." She turned, plastering a hopeful smile on her face and found Rip looking at her strangely.

"Woods Ville?" he said, his eyes narrowing a little.

"I mean it doesn't have a name, really, but everyone calls it that. It's kind of a joke. Cuz…its near the woods and it's a… Ville." She idly wondered if throwing herself out of the tree might save her dignity.

"Right," Rip said, "so…there a lot to do there? Besides climbing trees and fighting Grimm?"

"We ride four-wheelers sometimes," she said, hopeful she could rebound, "in the forest."

"Right. The one next to the Woods Town? Or what was it.. Woods Ville?" Rip asked, a suppressed laugh corrupting his face. He broke into a snicker. Azeban groaned and gave him a sour look. She felt more see-through than a window.

"Cut me a break, Rip," she said. The boy raised one hand to placate her, the other stayed firmly wrapped around a branch.

"Okay, so you won't tell me where your really from?" he asked. Azeban silently cursed the whole world for putting her in an awkward position.

"It doesn't matter," she said, curtly, "I'm here now. Training to be a Hunter." She returned to peering through the binoculars Hesh had leant her. Hesh, who was human. Rip, who'd just seen her fail to give her supposed hometown a name, was also human. Both of them would be on the same team as Rhod, who was her partner, and **also** happened to be a human.

None of them were Faunus, so none could know where she was from or who she really was for the next school year. Hell, the Faunus at this school probably couldn't be trusted either. And come next summer, she'd thank all three of them for their help and trust by abandoning them without a word of explanation.

She felt nauseous.

"Well, I'm from Vale City," Rip said, "a little neighborhood called East End."

"Cool," she said, a little harsher than she meant. Rip didn't miss the edge in her voice.

"Nevermind then," Rip said.

"No. Sorry," Azeban sighed, "I'm just.. tired. Once we get out of here I'll be happy to hear all about it." Azeban neglected to mention whether she'd say more about 'Woods Town,' or whatever she'd called it. She wasn't foolish enough to believe Rip didn't pick up on that.

"Sure," he said, "facing a grisly death without having lunch can put us all in a bit of funk, huh?" Azeban brightened and gave up the binoculars for a second. She fished in a pocket and withdrew a strip of sandwich bag wrapped tightly around a rectangle of dark jerky. She tore off a piece for Rip and handed it out to him.

"Uh, thanks?" he said, eyeing it with suspicion as Azeban tore of a chunk for herself.

"No worry. How's your back, by the way?" she asked, chewing the meat with ease. Rip found it just a little tougher than the jerky Vert Satyr was so found of. And much gamier than he expected.

"One solid shape so…what is this? Deer?" he asked. Azeban grinned, her canines standing out in their sharpness.

"Black bear," she said. Rip gulped down the jerky as best he could, trying to be polite.

"Oh, very cool," he made the mistake of glancing down to hide a look of disgust. The world below, far below, opened up as if to greet him and he felt himself sway a little.

"Careful now," Azeban said, unable to help a smile, "that's how my brothers always look right before a fall." Rip steadied himself after a moment and shook a little with nervous energy.

"Is this what its going to be like all the time? Climbing trees and nearly getting crushed to death?" He was afraid that the Hunter life was increasingly not for him. Azeban seemed at a natural ease up here, with the wind in her face, eating bear meat, and saving her strength for the next amazing kill she'd make.

She seemed like a Huntress already. Whereas Rip felt like he was being humored. Even at the moment, she'd gone quiet again, staring through the binoculars rather than talk to him.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rip said. Azeban chewed thoughtfully on her jerky.

"Ok," she replied, cautiously. Rip extended his hand a small branch next to him. He put his index finger in the path of a tiny green caterpillar and lifted the creature up to his nose to inspect it.

"I saw you fighting. You've done all this before, right? LIke a lot?" Azeban felt a leap in her stomach when she thought of the question. There was an uncertain pause before she replied.

"Yea. I did. Why?" She saw him gently release the inching caterpillar the trunk of the spruce.

"Are you ever still scared when you fight the Grimm?" he asked. Azeban felt goosebumps stand up on her arms.

"You mean fighting them? Of course I am. They're Grimm." she replied. Rip didn't look to her, turning away to the horizon.

"What I mean is… are you ever still afraid of... you know…like…dying?" Azeban's gulped down the jerky she'd been working. She looked back at Rip and saw the side of the boy's face as he stared toward the city.

"I mean, I try not to think about that?" Azeban said. Rip shifted awkwardly in his seat and clutched at his sides, reminding Azeban of how he looked while being squeezed in the grip of the Alpha Grimm.

Many times in the day, she had seen people she'd just met escape narrowly from death. So far, she'd done a decent job suppressing how frightening it all was. She'd focused as much she could on what was in front of her. It had put distance between herself and those moments.

For a brief moment, she wanted to run from Rip's question; she thought maybe changing the subject would smother his bad mood, or perhaps she could allow the silence to hang.

But Rip chanced a look back at her and when their eyes met, she saw how uncertain he felt. Leaving him alone with his thoughts would be wrong. The girl took a deep breath before speaking again.

"You know, growing up, I used to be terrified of them." Rip's eyes widened subtly at her. She had seemed so courageous all morning that the thought of her shaking from the Grimm sounded like a joke.

"But I was always watched by people who knew what to do when the Grimm showed up." Azeban looked over at the braids and bracelets she'd entwined around Dawnlander's hilt over the years.

"Then my parents said it was time for me to learn to kill my first Grimm. I spent the week leading up to it terrified. But when it was my time, I spent the whole day standing beside my Gran-my mentor. Seeing her fight, I used to think nothing could ever beat her. So when she taught me how to kill them, I thought I was a little invincible too." She looked over to Rip and forced a smile. "Isn't that silly? Who on earth is invincible, right?"

Rip returned her question with a smile that seemed far more sincere.

"I dunno, but you looked pretty invincible down there." He leaned forward with a raised fist and gave her a light tap on the shoulder.

Azeban grinned and let herself recline in her seat. The sight of Rip happy again was a relief, but she worried his question was still unanswered.

"Thanks, Rip. But you know, even I was pretty scared while we were fighting those wolves. I just kept it together for the sake of you guys."

"Well, that was really cool of you because you definitely saved me and Hesh back there." Rip returned graciously.

"I'm sure you'd do the same for me," she said, "but I've got your back, Rip." Until you go home, Azeban. She hid the bitter thought behind a smile. Rip leaned in.

"If that's the case, you mind lending me some of your tree climbing skills, 'cause I have no idea how I'm getting out of this tree." He waited for her response with a cute grin but noticed she seemed suddenly alert. A second later her heard it too; the fast approaching whine of turbines.

"That's the airship," he said. A second later the sliver aircraft hovered across the treetops and both young warriors felt their hearts lift when it touched down no more than two miles from their tree.

"That's it," Rip said, forgetting the Grimm completely, "that's all that's left? Ok, ok. That's nothing!" The airship's engine never ceased, but a slight change in tone indicated its ascent. It came back up and turned towards the school.

"Hesh will be happy," Azeban said, "he was starting to get worried we'd be lost." She saw the trees wave around the airship, battered by its mighty engines. Then, to her confusion, she saw the ripples spread out across the treetops in increasing frequency. It went far beyond the reach of the turbines.

"Oh," she said, eyes going wide in horror, "oh, no. Oh no!" The Furies erupted from the green sea of leaves like a hundred black flies. The airship pitched in response but the pilot righted it and made a sudden lurch forward in speed, outpacing the cloud of Grimm by a few short seconds. The Furies wheeled into their shape and gave chase.

"They'll make it right," Rip said, "right? If those things follow them to the school someone can kill them all." Azeban nodded out of reflex and then swore when, as if hearing them, the majority of the flock peeled away from its chase and began to swirl like a vortex around the spot where the airship had landed.

"They're right over the ruins," Rip whispered.

"They gave up prey," Azeban said, awe and terror clear in her voice, "that means…they only do that when something tell them to." Rip's eyes had not strayed from the small flock that still harried the airship. The airship banked suddenly in their direction, shaking away from some the Furies at it went.

"Come on, come on, come on," he said, almost chanting in a whisper. Azeban's heart was hammering in her chest as the Furies swarmed the ship. A few thudded against the ship's front window, dropping dead into the forest below. Others began flocking near the massive engines at both sides of the ship's flank.

"Oh, god," Azeban said, "they're going to try to gum up the turbines." She heard Rip stand on his branch, steadying himself with one hand wrapped around a branch. His face was stern. He balled his free hand into a fist that glowed with yellow light, then crouched and leveled his arm with the airship. His middle and index finger extended outward.

Lightning shot from his hand in a streak of blinding power. It arced through the air above the forest with a loud crackle before striking one unfortunate Furry in the center of the flock. Electricity scattered throughout the flock for a brilliant second before half the Furies bursted into smoking feathers. The rest, disoriented by the loss of so many at once, swarmed each other for a moment as the airship slipped free. Azeban starred in dumbstruck awe at the sight.

"Did I get them?" Rip asked, voice shaking. She turned and found him, arm still extended, with his eyes screwed shut. She was caught between wanting to yell at him for being so reckless and hugging him for saving the day.

"Yes," she settled on.

"All of them?" Rip asked, refusing to open his eyes. Azeban turned back and yelped as she saw the remainder whirl in the sky and dive towards their tree.

"Oh shit! Not all of them! Not all of them!" Azeban cried out. She clambered over to Rip's perch and grabbed him from behind. Rip gripped the tree's branches tighter as his branch swayed from her weight.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. Azeban wrapped her legs around his middle and her arms around his torso like she expected a piggyback ride. She breathed deep and summoned up her aura. Rip gasped as an autumn red glow surrounded him, the air became crisp and calming as he was bathed in the light.

"Rip, let go," Azeban said, her eyes closed.

"Do what?" he asked absently, entranced by the aura encasing him. He'd never felt anyone else's aura. He swore he could smell pine needles and hear woodpeckers rapping against trees.

"Let go of the tree and we'll be fine," Azeban said, "trust me." Rip was brought back to reality by her words.

"Azeban, that's crazy," he whispered in fright. The girl pried his fingers loose in a swift motion he wasn't fast enough to resist. Rip felt his stomach fly into his neck as they dipped backwards together, but their fall slowed to a crawl immediately. His jaw went slack.

"Are we... flying?" the tree they'd been in passed by like a view from an elevator. Azeban kept her concentration on the weight in her arms. She was straining more with the added weight but expected they'd make it to the floor.

"Floating," she grunted.

"This is like," Rip's voice remained hushed in awe, "both the coolest and scariest minute of my life. What's happening?"

Azeban sensed the ground approaching and her focus slipped as she heard dozens of angry Grimm break the canopy in a cacophony of shrieks. They fell the last eight feet, the wind knocked out of them from impact.

"Dust and damnation!" Hesh shouted, his pistol was pointed upward in a second. It barked rapidly, in bursts of three, as the Furies began to close-in on them. Dozens of them filled the air and they began to swarm downward on each of the warriors.

"Bugger! Off!" Rhod yelled. Rip crawled off Azeban and stumbled to his feet. His big friend was swinging his hammer at the vulture-like beasts. Now and then he'd get lucky and send one soaring across the woods like a baseball, but another would take its place each time.

Hesh, meanwhile, had drawn the Finalword to help swat the flock away. His aura was lightning up in flashes as he was raked by dozens of talons.

A weight slammed into Rip's head. He spun, snatching the Fury on reflex, and twisted its neck like a chicken's. Even as he killed one, three were trying to get a grip on him. He shrieked as one pecked directly at his eye.

He balled up on the ground, terrified again. The monsters mocked him with their raspy caws and went after his exposed back. The swarm of them were so dense he was loosing sight of his teammates. His thoughts began to stray toward imagining what they'd all look like, pecked to death by hundreds of birds. _This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare! _

A high-pitched yell of rage filled his ears. He glanced up as he felt Furies near the back of his head retreat. Azeban, one forearm thrown over her eyes, stood over him and swung the wide blade of her weapon in one hand. It was a clumsy attempt to save him that was earning her a world of pain.

Remembering himself, he fumbled with his dust pouch and found one with a ghostly-blue color to it, then yanked Azeban down to the ground.

"Guys, cover your ears!" he yelled. He didn't stop to see if they'd heard him. He stood, took the fighting stance of the Horse, and raised his hand overhead. The glow of his Thunder Dust began to flash around his clenched fist. He lifted it up directly overhead. A half-dozen Furies swarmed his arm like carrion birds on a dead body.

"12,11,10, 9, 8," he counted, determined to focus himself amidst the chaos. He yelped suddenly when a cold beak pecked at his lip, "Yow! 7,6- Ah! 321!" He opened his fist and a thunder-clap burst outward. Rip was driven directly down onto Azeban, wincing as is aura broke from the impact. His eyes shut.

The noise was less than a full second, but the silence that followed felt like infinite. Rip sensed something strike his stomach and sputtered. A second later he gagged when the weight on his belly started to steam and stink. He sat up and shoved the little bird carcase off with his left hand. His right was dead-limp at his side, the feeling gone from his fingers-tips to his shoulder.

Rhod was dancing a little jig, on his tip-toes. His hammer lay abandoned on the ground. His face writhed with pain, like he'd stubbed every toe and jammed every finger at once.

Hesh meanwhile, was making every effort to stand but kept going back to one knee.

"You good, partner?" Hesh looked around at that. He seemed unaware of which direction Rip was speaking from.

"Rip," Azeban growled, "get off of me." Rip gasped and leapt to his feet. He stumbled onto his knees almost immediately. Azeban, with clear difficulty, rose to all-fours.

"Hey, buddy," Rip said, gulping, "you good?" She turned one, furious, eye toward him.

"You just saved my life," she said, breathing heavily, "so thanks for that. But I'm getting tired of people tackling me and setting off explosions. So…with all that understood…thank you and get bent."

"Alright, fair," Rip said, "wait, thats been a thing?"

"More of a thing than you'd have a bony ass, by the way," she said, sitting up on her knees and rubbing the spot on her back he'd been seated on.

"That's also fair," Rip said.

"Oh," Rhod called out, moving gingerly to retrieve his hammer, "tha was like all the bee-stings inna world a' once!" Hesh stumbled drunkenly over and steadied himself with his sword thrust into the dirt.

"Was that all your Dust?" Hesh shouted. Rip winced and reached out with his good hand. He turned Hesh's face toward his and leaned in. Bolad had taught him how to communicate with someone who's hearing just took a hit. In fact, circumstance had forced her on several occasions to teach him. He was never very graceful with Thunder Dust.

"Hesh," he said, not slowing or exaggerating his speech, "go like this." He made a yawning motion with his mouth. Hesh, looking bewildered and confused by Rip's proximity, did as he was told. His eyes widened and he clutched his ears as pain rushed into them.

"Oh, that was terrible," he hissed, "was that all your Dust?"

"I'm down to half, yeah," with a moment to breathe, Rip realized how low his reserves had become. Half a lightning vial still in his left glove and a full thunder vial stored away.

"Save the rest of it," Hesh said, "we'll need it for the remainder of the trip." Hesh went back to the jaw exercises, giving an exclamation of surprise every time he opened his mouth.

Rip decided that, if they survived, he'd get Hesh to tell him what precisely military school had prepared him for. Fighting a hundred shrieking monsters couldn't have been standard curriculum, but Hesh pressed on as if it was nothing special.

Rhod walked over, still favoring his toes, and examined the slowly steaming carnage around them.

"Sup, big dude? You ok?" Rip asked. Rhod was looking at him like he'd dropped from the heavens.

"Ah've never seen Dust used inna fight afore," he said, whispering in awe, "tha's horra grand…and hoora scary. How come yer not hurt?"

Rip managed a cocky smile.

"People used Dust long before guns came along, Rhod, and my master taught me to use my aura to dissipate the effect. Do it right, and you get all the perks of nature's power without the drawbacks."

His three friends all stared at him, bodies shaken, ears ringing, and faces full of anger. He frowned, putting his hands on his hips defensively. Or one of them at least, as his right was moving like a garden hose.

"Or… well.. At least if you control it right. Look, I'm not an expert yet, ok? So sue me for saving everybody."

"Noted," Hesh sighed, "are we close to our objective, at least?"

"Yeah, actually, the ruins are like two miles that way," Rip pointed toward what he aproximated was north.

"They're to the south?" Hesh asked. Azeban shrugged at Rip apologetically.

"Good," Rip said, rubbing the feeling back into his right arm, "well, I guess I'll just shut up."

"Before you do that," she said, "we should maybe mention that, like, a thousand Furies are circling the ruins right now. That was just a piece of the flock. Rip here was the only reason the last flight didn't get swamped by them." Hesh frowned.

"A thousand Furies," he said with obvious skepticism.

"Maybe not exactly," Azeban said, rolling her eyes, "but enough to be a problem. Hesh, they were having trouble landing and taking off earlier. We can't fight them in the air!" She argued her point with increasing apparent exhaustion. Rhod snorted.

"Aye, seems we cannae fight them on the ground, neither." Hesh looked around at them with growing disappointment.

"The ruins," Hesh said, "are the only place nearby we know about. That's our best heading."

"If it's a trap we be walkin' into?" Rhod asked, "Hesh, Ah dinnae want to bring ye down, mate. But Ah been fighting since ah landed. Ah dinnae have much fight left."

"We'll be careful," Hesh said, "keep to the dense trees, go slow and quiet. Try not to start too much trouble." He glanced at the stains the Furies left and rubbed the back of his neck. "Too much more trouble."

"Hesh, this might be our last chance to turn back," Azeban said, "if all of those things swarm us it'll be bad. And that's not counting whatever is leading them. It could be waiting for us!"

"We need the relics to pass," Hesh said, his voice cold. Hesh caught Rip rolling his eyes.

"Is that a problem, Rip?"

"Yea, maybe you weren't here for the giant flock of birds that nearly killed us, but I think they're a problem!" Rip snapped. Hesh folded his arms and stared right back at his partner.

"The ones you apparently pulled down on us with your lightning stunt?" Rip opened his mouth to protest but Azeban beat him to it.

"Hey, he saved Beacon's airship, Hesh, don't start riding him just because you're upset."

"I'm not," Hesh ground out, "I just don't think that just because there could be something at the ruins-"

"Not _could be,_ Hesh," Rip interjected, "there _definitely_ are a million Furies at the ruins."

"Oh, Now it's a million, is it?" Hesh said. Azeban shot him a look.

"There's a lot Hesh, climb the spruce if you don't believe us. And maybe toss Rip a 'thank you' for the help with the Furies first?" Hesh looked ready to say something other than 'thank you' but paused. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Yes, yes," he said, "of course you're both right. Rip? Thank you."

"You're welcome," Rip replied.

"However-"

"Oh, Hesh," Azeban started, "come on, don't do that."

"However," Hesh said, a little louder, "short of hiking all the way back to a sheer cliff face, we don't have many options." He jerked a thumb overhead at the closely packed trees. "I know enough about airships to say that one isn't landing anywhere that doesn't have a lot of flat ground to cover. Maybe that was an option further back, but now the ruins are the closest chance we have."

"An' this 'as nawt to do wit' the wee relics?" Rhod grumbled. Hesh decided not to bother denying it.

"It does, but isn't that important? If we can't prove we're Hunters-". Rip whistled and pointed at the black stain in the grass. "Be that as it may," Hesh said, "there are rules to this and if we don't follow them we lose our chance at Beacon."

"And if we lose our chance at life?" Rip said. Hesh's temper broke.

"This is **my** chance at this life! **Okay**?!" Hesh thundered, eyes flashing, "I have sacrificed and fought for this! I will **not** turn back because its more dangerous than you all thought! Don't you see how far we've come? What we've survived already? Have any of you stopped to think about that? Rip, I've never seen someone use Dust without a gun my whole life! And you've used it twice! Twice in five minutes! And your the one who thinks it's time to throw this chance away!?"

The other three all jumped a little at his outburst.

"Mate," Rhod said, showing his hands, "ah know its not exactly what any o' us wanted. But…"

Hesh whirled on him, desperation in his voice.

"Rhod, you just took a thunderclap and stayed standing! Azeban told me she found you fighting two Boarbatusks by yourself! You've been fighting since we landed and you still have some left!" Rhod rested his hammer on his shoulder and looked away.

"Hesh, its alright," Azeban said. She approached and put her hand on Hesh's shoulder. Hesh faced her.

"Azeban, you're incredible. You know so much about all of this. So I trust you when you say you know how risky this is. I do. But isn't that part of it? The risk? I know those things are just relics, they're meaningless. But they are supposed to be people. If we turn back now isn't that saying they can't trust us to turn back when we're needed? I don't want them to think that. I know I can do this." Azeban smiled sadly.

"But its not just you, Hesh, its all four of us. This fight could've gone bad. Really bad. So could the one with the Beowulf. Or the one I had with Rhod earlier. We've all had a few scrapes and if our luck doesn't hold out here…we could die, Hesh." She looked at his face and saw utter hopelessness.

"Hesh, I get that you want this really bad," Rip said, "but we have to be practical."

"No," Hesh said, then looked at Rip and Rhod in turn, " No! I don't just want this 'really bad'. I **need** this! I was never supposed to be a Hunter. Even thought that's what I wanted. I was supposed to be military. Like my father. Like his father!" He looked Azeban in the eye and took a deep breath.

"My father…is General Gainsboro Crane. I am his son. Hessian Crane. Named after the first of our line and more since." Azeban hand slid off his shoulder, her face the picture of shock.

Thoughts raced through her head. She'd very nearly told the son of a Valish General the secret of High Crimson. Her ears flickered as she remembered their encounter with Maya:

"_Gainsboro 'I Can't Recall' Crane. The man who forgot a thousand moments. _

_Just as heartless as Lagoon."_

She thought of everything, everything she'd said to him, offhand or on purpose, checking every time she'd hinted at her past for dangerous possibilities. As she came back to the present, she saw the look of fear on Hessian's face. The sight of him dreading her judgment reminded her who she'd spent the last two days with; a nervous boy, full of generosity and eager to be her friend. Then she thought of the train in the nighttime storm and his act of kindness, an unexpected and unconditional gesture that had brought them together. She realized, suddenly, something she'd never considered.

"Hesh," her voice was soft, "what aren't you telling us? Why did you catch that train so late the night we met?" Hesh stared at the tips of his boots. He willed his voice not to crack as he spoke up.

"Because… I ran away from home," he said, "to come here. To be a Hunter. My mom and dad wouldn't let me. By the time this is all through, I don't know if they'll even want to speak to me again. I can't… I can't just go home after all this." Hessian hated how the words sounded coming from him.

"Jeez," Rip said, "Hesh…dude, I'm sorry." Rip suddenly felt like an asshole. Miriam, Vert, and Bolad had been behind him on this, more than he had. He couldn't have done something without their leave. If would've felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

"Rough, mate, hoora rough," Rhod added, his thoughts went naturally to his own father. He wondered if Zircon Henry would be proud of his boy leaving home and family behind on a mad rush to avoid the death of his town.

Azeban placed her other hand on his other shoulder and stared him in the eyes. No family to urge him on. No hero's welcome after a long fight. She watched Hessian bat her away and turn toward the ruins without a word.

"I'll go on alone," Hesh said, voice low and without affection, "I won't make any of you do this with me."

"Don't be stupid," Azeban said forcefully, holding him back by his wrist.

"Aye," Rhod chipped in, "tha's nawt an option." Hesh looked up, hope sparking in his gray eyes. They were starting to turn glassy by the moment. Rip saw Hessian watching him, unable to ask the question clearly on his mind. Rip rubbed his own right arm, the feeling returning enough to move it, though it was shaky. He took a deep breath.

"Yeah," he said, finally, "yeah, you got me for at least the next two miles. But, Hesh. Those relics…whatever they represent… they aren't really people. _We're people._ Cool? You get what I'm saying?"

"Of course," Hesh said, he laid a hand on his sword, "You're absolutely right. Thank you. All of you."

"Thank us when we're safely out of the woods of death," Rip said. Hesh laughed, surprising all three of them. He smiled, the first real smile any of them had seen from him. He looked haggard. But under the weariness, there was relief to it, like each of them now helped him carry an invisible stone of immense weight.

"Well," Hessian began, his voice staying quiet to help him regain his composure, "Onward, then."

xxx

Dakka leapt up from her seat as she saw Ozpin approaching. The boy next to her rose

as well, though he said nothing. The Headmaster's expression was unreadable but he was walking faster than normal. He'd made it to the cliffside airfield outside the school grounds in record time.

"Sir," she said, forgetting in her haste how Ozpin hated that, "listen, he really wants to go be with his teammate." The young man stood up when Ozpin was before him. He was tall for his age, with a couple inches over the Headmaster. His armor, mismatched from various sets, seemed like a rainbow in its varied colors.

"Ner's leg was bleeding a lot, sir," he said. He had a quiet, polite voice, "I know you want to speak to me but can't we go to the infirmary, first?"

"Augur Varigate,' Ozpin stared him down, "I want you to tell me everything about the creatures that attacked you. Was there anything strange?" He put a hand on Augur's shoulder, pinning him to the spot.

"Strange? Sir, there was an Ursa that Dan killed, bigger than most but…" Ozpin spoke over him.

"Anything else? Anything with antlers? It wouldn't look like any of the others in the group. It might stay near the back." Dakka stepped cautiously into the space next to them. She noted the growing fear on the teen's face.

"I think so, yes, Headmaster," he said, glancing at Dakka, "Headmaster, I'd really like to go see how Ner is doing."

"You know you saw something? You didn't just 'think' you saw something?" Ozpin said, his voice rising just slightly in volume.

"I did," Augur said, eyes wide, "I'm certain I did. Headmaster, _please_ may I go?" Ozpin stare at him before, like a spell breaking, he blinked and released his iron grip on the boy's shoulder.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Varigate. Very responsible of you. Go, please, see how your teammate is doing. And congratulations of course" Ozpin said. Dakka watched the boy race off, waiting until she was certain the boy was out of earshot.

"Sir," Dakka said, "I think…" Ozpin turned to face her and she went quiet.

"Dakka," he said, "go and begin the process of arming your gunship." Dakka's eyes widened. The Overkill was no joke. She stood her ground, resisting years of military training that urged her to follow the order on a dime.

"With respect, sir," she said, "there are still eight students out there. The Overkill has offense capabilities, but I can't take eight students in it. I'd be lucky to get four inside it." Her eyes flickered over to someone walking towards them.

"Time is of the essence," Ozpin said, too lost in his own thoughts to notice their company, "so please focus on your orders for now."

"Sir, does Dr. Goodwitch know..."

"Ms. Rooivalk, have I not been perfectly clear with you already? We have lives on the line right now! Now get yourself to your gunship! That is an **order**!" Ozpin's shout startled her. She babbled a quick affirmative and began to jog towards a small hangar, shouting at a group of workers who were preparing to refuel the airship.

"So, Ozzie," Ozpin straightened his back and clutched his cane tight at the sound of York's voice, "there a problem here?" Ozpin turned and saw the man, arms folded and smile as wider than ever.

xxx

_**Editor Note:**_

_**All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	10. Dead End

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

_**xxx**_

Hessian Crane stepped through one final wall of branches and into the ruins he'd sought all day. The Grimm had vanished utterly. No Furies lurked in the trees, as he'd feared, and not a single beast had troubled the last walk up the avenue. The team had relaxed slightly, beginning to think that, at last, their fighting was done.

"We're here," he breathed in wonder, not quite believing it.

The deep trench of a dried-up river bed cut through the woods from east-to-west. Hessian recognized it as the dead sibling of the Vale Basin River, which took water down from the northeast and through the heart of the capital. Many such rivers snaked down through the lands around Vale City but some, like this, had been dammed up when they proved unusable.

In the middle of the wide river-bed was a small island commanded by a granite mausoleum. Bridges spanned either side and from both blossomed out a massive complex of ruined pillars and monuments.

"What is this place?" Rhod said at last. He took a few tentative steps to the nearest structure -a pair of feet beneath broken off ankles rested on a pedestal. The rest of the statue lay tangled in vines nearby, the torso hosting a few small purple flowers.

Rip and Azeban came through the threshold behind them. Azeban's eyes grew round in wonder as they darted across every ruin. Half-formed statues and obelisk faces peaked out of the ground's surface, as if they were drowning in the soft earth's soil. Moss ruled the surface of every single one.

"They got anything like this in Woodsville?" Rip asked in a whisper, afraid to the break the silence.

"No," she whispered back, too dumbstruck to note the barb. Her memories of the marble city were nothing like the cacophony of monuments before her. There was no rhyme or reason to the scattered crowd of stone slabs, each standing at different heights and gloomy colors. Only the tall mount near the center reminded her of Arche's structured temples.

"We're standing in a cemetery," Hesh said bluntly, "an old one by the looks of it." Rip made a sound like cold water had been dumped on him and huddled close to Hesh. Rhod and Azeban, for their part, looked utterly perplexed.

"A what-now?" Azeban asked.

"A graveyard," Rip translated for the non-Valish, "where dead people get buried."

"Elder Brother's blood!" Rhod moved backwards in a scramble. His retreat was faster than he'd been all day, even in their fight with Beowolves.

"We're to walk over dead folks?" he shivered in his armor. Hesh looked between the three of them with unhidden judgment.

"What brave future Hunters," he quipped at them. Azeban glared at the scene before her suspiciously. Her tail frizzled up and she kept her feet close together, watching where she stepped.

"Gross! Making us come to a burial ground for our initiation is sick." She didn't fear zombies or the undead, but a gravesite wasn't meant to be so obvious. In High Crimson, the deceased were given a marker of wood to decay with the body. Death begetting life. This place was nothing but ruined stone and strangling vines, as if nature was waging war on it.

"I can't believe this," Hesh said, "a real cadre of courageous warriors I've found for myself. It's a cemetery! There's one literally in my backyard." Rip whirled on him.

"What? Where the hell do you live?"

"The Salt Cliffs," Hesh replied, "cemeteries are everywhere there. My favorite is the Grand Memoriam. It's a big hill perfect for jogs in the rain." Hesh smiled as he thought of his father, Corvo, and himself doing a circuit.

"Your 'favorite'!?" Rip objected.

"Tha' ye _jog _through!?" Rhod's face was a picture of disgust. Hesh may as well have admitted to grave robbing his grandmother. Hesh adopted a haughty stance.

"This is Valish tradition. We don't shy away from sorrow or death. When our heroes perish, we memorialize them in great stone constructs like that mausoleum over there." Hesh began to strut down the aisle of stones when he noticed he was advancing alone. He pinched the bridge of his nose and beheld his teammates watching the graves.

"You guys," his voice cracking slightly as he whined, "can't we just go? The relics are right there! There is nothing else here to be afraid-"

An iron creaking noise made Hesh yelp and whirl around, his sword pointed towards the mausoleum. A wrought-iron gate groaned with rust, apparently pushed by the wind. Hesh went red and slowly turned to face his team. Rip stared flatly at him, arms crossed, while Azeban was kindly hiding a smile.

Rhod was too busy staring at the gravestones to offer any comment.

"Yes," Hesh said, sheathing his sword, "perhaps there is an atmosphere." He urged them onward with a rapid gesture. Rip came along first, muttering about 'Valish tradition'. Azeban followed carefully, eyeing each passing headstone with a nauseous look. Rhod, after a long minute, tip-toed after, feeling like he should apologize to the dead.

"Spent lots o' time underground," he said, "cannae stand the though o' being buried in it."

"With you on that," Rip said, "cremate me, I say, scatter me somewhere nice."

"Uugh," Azeban moaned, "no way. Fire? Nu-uh." She tried not to think about a corpse slowly collapsing into ash.

"Oh for goodness sake," Hesh said, "there's nothing wrong with burial. My family has been buried since Hessian the 1st came to our lands. Some of those stones go back so far the writing isn't even in Old Valish." Azeban, her curiosity peaked, stepped around Rip and walked next to Hesh. She found a headstone not too worn by time and tugged at his sleeve.

"What's that say?" she asked, her shock forgotten. Hesh looked at the mausoleum longingly but stopped to read the stone.

"It'll take a moment," he squinted, " 'here…put-or more likely 'interred'-is Dolf from Berg-'city' probably from the city-who was a…'Jaeger'…huh." Hesh turned around and looked at the graves.

"What?" Azeban asked.

"Jaegar…old Valish word for Hunter," Hesh snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up, "this isn't any cemetery. It's a Hunter cemetery." He looked at the mausoleum once more, with new interest.

"Ah, see that?" He pointed into an alcove near the iron gates. Azeban gasped when she made out the shape of a person.

A hooded figure raised a finger to its lips, its free hand wrapped around the hilt of a sword. Azeban's stared in wonder.

"It's the Ankou," Hesh said, her ears twitched at the odd name, "guardian of graveyards."

"His sister is the Jinn, guardian of libraries and places of learning." Hesh intoned, as if he were reciting a quote from a memorized text.

"I've never seen one before," she said, "and they're everywhere?"

"Old places mostly," Hesh said, "though I've been told it used to be common to build an image of such things for every kind of place. Castles, crossroads, and even ones for animal pens. Guardian spirits."

"I wonder what else there is around here," Azeban said. Hesh smiled to see one of his friends losing their fear of the old cemetery.

"Our relics, for one," he said. He went to step onto the bridge and, suddenly, an unseen force slammed into him and dragged him to the ground.

"Hang on!" a voice said from thin air. Hesh's eyes went wide as he felt invisible hands gripping him. Instinct made him throw a few wild punches. He howled in pain when his knuckles met metal. There was a shimmer of light and a warrior straight from Mistralese myth hung over him.

"Rhod, wait!" Hesh heard Azeban yell. A gigantic foot caught the armored figure in the chest and a heavy metal ring filled Hesh's ears. The weight vanished from him, letting him scramble to his feet.

"Ow," the figure whined, his aura shattered, "ow. Ow. Oh, gods that hurt!" Rhod steadied Hesh and shot the writhing stranger a glare.

"Percy," Azeban knelt down at the boy's side, "where did you come from?" She gingerly helped him sit up and rolled her eyes when she saw his helmet knocked askew again. She took it off him and was filled with concern at what she saw.

Percy's fine features were haggard. Heavy bags under his eyes disappeared into large purple bruises all over his face.

"Azeban," he said, "you and your friends can't cross the bridge."

"Why?" Rip asked, shaking off the mute shock that had held him through the whole ordeal.

"Because it will blow up if you do." He sputtered. The team shared a single stupefied look.

Azeban helped Percy to his feet. The boy donned his helmet and motioned for them to follow. He led them around the right side of the bridge, sliding down the grassy slope into the riverbed.

"Be careful," he whispered, "the slopes are really muddy." The rain had done its work well, but with care, three of the kids made it down without incident. Rhod bit back a curse when he ended up sliding down half the slope, covering his jeans in dirt.

"I know, sorry," Percy said, "but Xan wired the bridge with the last of her fire Dust. Don't worry, there's a spot with some big rocks around the side here, its easier getting out on the island." He demonstrated for them and, with a little effort, the five warriors stood before the granite structure they'd been seeking all day.

"Where's your team?" Hesh asked. Percy shushed him quickly.

"Not so loud," he said, "wait til we're inside to talk. Nothing's heard us yet, but lets not risk it."

They ascended a few wide steps, with burst of weeds growing between ancient cracks, and passed through the intricate iron gates. Azeban shivered a little bit as they passed under the gaze of the Ankou. Rust made the hinges scream as Percy closed them.

They arrived in a little courtyard, open to the sky above, with a waist-high pillar commanding the center. Around it, a trio of girls looked up at the new arrivals. Hesh frowned when he recognized Maya, looking fierce in her jaguar-style helmet, carefully examining an immense weapon. Another girl, all in soft brown, was restringing a compound bow. Her eyes lit up when she saw Rip and Rhod.

"Oh, hey guys," Ohlone said, "fancy meeting you here."

"Xan, it was just Azeban," Percy said to his partner, who was busy reassembling her Helsings atop an old black cloth.

"My eyes work fine, pretty boy," the harsh girl barked, "so do my ears. Even the dead folks heard you out there."

"Well next time _you_ go get them with _your_ semblance that makes you invisible. _Oh, right, nevermind._" The boy sang his last barb as if it were the best comeback he'd ever thought of. Xan didn't bother turn from what she was doing.

"Feh," Xan spat, "utterly useless."

"My semblance isn't useless!" Percy snapped.

"Oh, I know that," Xan said and gave him a mean smirk. Percy's shoulders slumped as he caught her meaning.

"This has been my whole day," Maya said. She lifted her weapon, a sturdy wooden club not unlike a cricket bat, then compressed a button on the hilt. Obsidian shards stabbed outward along the edges. Another button press set the blades whirring like a chainsaw. She watched the blades spin as if inspecting them for signs of damage. Ohlone shook her head and approached the four teammates with a smile.

"I think all three of them meant 'oh, hi, good to see you guys are o…," she paused as she looked them over, "…k. Uh, you all look super terrible."

Thanks," Rip said with a thumbs up and no hesitation, "Why are you guys still here?"

"Well, Xan said we shouldn't give up the natural defenses offered by the island," Ohlone said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Rip worked his jaw in irritation.

"I meant wasn't that airship we saw earlier the one you guys were on." Ohlone winced and quickly made a cutting motion across her neck.

"Shouldn't have said that," Maya groaned. Percy tensed up under his armor. Xan rose up with her face the picture of rage.

"Funny thing about that," she thundered, "we didn't quite make it in time on account of somebody getting lost." Ohlone tried to interject.

"I don't-"

"And while he was lost," Xan shouted, "he decided to pack it all in and fire his damn flare! So ended the escapades of three Huntresses and one absolute cock-up!"

"Now that's not fair, that was because of the Grimm," Ohlone said, hands on her hips, "how would you like it if you got caught by yourself?" Xan shoved her black hat down over her head.

"That'd be my every wish and dream come to life," she snarled, "now don't bother trying to be Percy's mum about this." Maya stood up, towering over the gunslinger. Xan scoffed. "Speaking of which, here comes your mum."

"E-nough," Maya said, leaning down into her face, "enough of all your crap, Xanthus." The jaguar helmet turned towards Ohlone. "And you quit falling into her trap. Hear me?"

The only answer given came from Percy and it was too quiet to hear.

"What was that, pretty boy?" Xan said. Maya gave her a stern look.

"I said," Percy repeated, with a deep, sad sincerity, "I'm sorry. I'll tell them it was just me."

"For all the good it will do," Xan said. She pulled down the brim of her hat and Azeban alone caught the glint of a wet drop on her cheek.

Hesh jolted at an elbow to his ribs. Rip pointed at the pillar before them.

"This is super uncomfortable and I want to leave," Rip hissed, "lets get our relics."

"Ang on a mo'," Rhod said, "it was yer flare what went up afore? From the woods?" Percy nodded, his eyes not leaving the ground.

"Why," Rhod said, "an' didnae anyone come to get ye?"

"No," Maya said, "we've been stuck here this whole time. The team before us must've really stirred up the Grimm. A whole flock of Furies circled this place and we had to hide."

"They're gone now," Azeban said, "maybe we should shoot a flare? The Furies aren't anywhere nearby." Hesh held up a hand. He looked at the shambles of the team-that-almost-was and felt a chill run down his spine.

"Wait," he said, "just to be safe."

"Oh, for god's sake, Hesh," Rip grumbled.

Hesh ignored the comment and approached the pillar. He was surprised to find it bearing a carven chessboard. Of any pieces, only two remained, on opposing ends. Pawns. He frowned, a bit put out by the implication.

"This is our relic?" he said. He picked up the gold piece and examined it. It was a fine example of a set, not unlike the one his father had in his study. The figurine was man-shaped and held out a spear inelegantly.

"Well," Azeban said, picking up the black piece, "better something than nothing, right? I was worried this was going to be a sort of 'the relics were teamwork' type of thing. Hey, Hesh there's more of that writing!" Hesh leaned down, Old High Valish was scrawled on the pillar.

His jaw dropped as he realized it hadn't been there a moment prior. Glowing golden letters shifted into place. He read aloud, his voice filled with awe.

"Always forward," he said, "until you reach the boundary. From there, all roads lie open." He glanced at the pawn in his left hand.

"Oooh," Ohlone said, eyes bright, "we had that happen to. But we picked up little knight pieces. I wish you'd been here then Hesh. Those glowy letters came up but no-one could read them." Xan sighed like someone had just asked her for a kidney.

"'Leap over others only to shield them, to stand where the enemy challenges.'" She recited this is a petulant, teenaged tone. Ohlone gave her a look of unhidden surprise.

"You knew what it said? Why didn't you read it aloud, Xan?" Xan rolled her eyes.

"Who cares? We're not a team anyway," she cut her eyes at Percy, "remember?"

As they bickered, Hesh found himself joined by Rip. His partner was tired but he managed a small smile as he looked over the pawn. Rip drew the small flare-gun from his belt and held it out to Hesh.

"Hesh," he said, "would you do the honors, please?" Hesh took the orange pistol and pointed it skyward. Red light streaked upwards and burst like a tiny firework.

The wall of monitors in the Beacon Observation room displayed mostly static. One screen rushed through a green haze of trees only for a black, avian shape to blindside it.

"And that makes ten," someone grumbled, "Dr. Goodwitch, that's our last camera in Sector 8. I can draw some from 7 but…"

"Do it," Glynda said, "the bill to fix all this won't be small enough that a few more cameras will matter." She did not let panic creep into her voice but every second that Oz wasn't in the room was twisting the knife in her stomach.

"Little shits," another worker snapped. Her screen, Sector 2 by Eldritch Manor, went dark.

"Everyone," Glynda said, using her sternest 'vice-principal' voice, "lets stay calm. Forget 2 for now. In fact, lets keep the cameras from 7 where they are instead. Draw from 6 and keep one from 7 on the main avenue toward the ruins."

The room fell back into silence, save for the steady tapping of someon's nervous toe, and Glynda checked her phone. At the top of several messages read one from Oakley Gracia.

_Ozpin still not answering. What is going on? _

_Two teams left. Almost there. _Glynda hurriedly cancelled the call that tried to come through right after.

_Text only. Can't leave Obsvt. Can't distract staff. _She sent the message with a guilty pit in her stomach. The response she got made the pit feel deeper.

_This is bullshit._

_I know. _Glynda typed and then added. _Robin called your office earlier. She's wants to videochat with you later about lynxes?  
_ _Do not try to distract me with my wife. Where is Ozpin? _She winced, remembering the plans Oakley canceled to be here for the selection.

_I don't know, Oakley. _There was no response for so long that Glynda almost put her Scroll away. But a long paragraph buzzed onto the screen.

_This was a mistake. You know it. I know it. Ozpin knows it but he insisted we go ahead anyway. We're trapped here and maybe its just that driving me crazy but its given me time to think about all this. We could've done this tomorrow but we didn't. I could've refused. Feral could've refused. We didn't. We just went along with it. And now he won't even answer his phone. This is not how we should be doing things here._

Glynda took a deep breath and typed.

_Firstly, you are correct. We should've postponed the selection. _

She gave Oakley a moment to receive and read that before sending another message.

_Oz, wherever he is, should be here but he's not. I feel confident saying, wherever he is, its not wasting time or having a breakdown in the stairwell. There's an incredible amount of pressure on him right now. That's not my excuse, that's just a fact. And when the day is over he will apologize to you for this. _An answer came back a split second later.

_Get us out of this clearing. Now. Get someone down here. _

Glynda heard York's voice moving down the hallway outside. He sounded loud and angry.

_Ozpin's back. I have to go. _She put her phone away, drawing a well of anger simmering since Duchy had arrived, and stormed out into the hall.

"York, this is really not the time for any of this," Ozpin said, he sounded irritated but didn't look ready to lay down the law.

"Please, a blind man could see through this, Ozzie, you might as well spare yourself some dignity," York said. Glynda hesitated wondering how much the interloping Hunter had wedeled out of her boss. A small, traitorous hope welled up at the thought. End the farce and send the Hunters in to secure the forest.

"I am not interested in feeding your conspiracy theories, York," Ozpin said. They both took notice of Glynda and smiled for very different reasons.

"I've figured it out, Doc," York said, "your Headmaster let me catch him with his pants down. Sending a gunship out to clean up what the kiddies can't handle themselves." Glynda's eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me?" she asked. York tapped the side of his head.

"Don't bother playing dumb, Doc, I'm making a mental list of everyone who's keeping secrets and you're already number two. Behind this one here, of course." He gestured at Ozpin. A look of genuine disgust came over York's face and it infuriated Glynda more than any smug smirk ever could. "Ozzie, its bad enough that this place can't draw enough new apprentices to fill a janitor's closet. Trying to fudge that by helping them out is just low."

Glynda thought about the hard won victories of the long day and the agony two Hunters felt at being cut off from their charges. When she thought of the children who were out there still, with every second an uncertainty, she could not hold back any longer.

"Get out, York, " she thundered, "get outside and don't you dare bother anyone else today or you will answer to me." A snide grin was York's answer, but it vanished when Glynda grabbed by the elbow and wrenched him along like he was a badly-behaved student.

Shock kept him from struggling for a moment and Glynda got him nearly out of the main tower before he wrenched himself free.

"I have every right to be here, Glynda-" he snapped, drawing himself up.

"No, York, you don't, in point of fact, have any right to stick your nose into the business of a school _you _abandoned!" Hunter Duchy's goatee trembled in anger but Glynda went on uninterrupted. "You've been nothing but a gnat since you showed up so don't try to convince me that all of this is someone solemn duty you're bound to carry out. If Hunig Geat wants to poach students from us she can come here herself and do it."

"Headmaster Geat," York said, voice dripping with venom, "is thinking about the future of our whole Order. Unlike you, Dr. Goodwitch, who seems mightily concerned with running a combat school that barely prepares its students for the dangers of a Hunter's life!" Glynda met his eyes with a fiery glare.

"Looking at the example of one such graduate throwing a tantrum in front of me, I could forgive that interpretation," she said, "I wonder did Geat just send you here so you wouldn't annoy her? Or is it to keep you from playing boogeyman to her new students because you can't bear to make yourself useful?"

"You stuck-up-," York began to say. Glynda pressed him back with end of her crop, pinning him against the wall.

"Whatever stupid, juvenile little insult you have ready to fire off, York Duchy, it is in your best interest to keep it to yourself. I am done asking you. I am done warning you. I'd have thrown you out on your ear the moment you arrived but that wasn't yet my decision." York, who had been going purple with rage, suddenly cut his eyes down the hallway toward Ozpin.

"No, it isn't," he said through his teeth.

"Look at me when I am speaking to you," she said, snapping her fingers in his face, "you are to go outside and wait for either myself or the Headmaster to give you a report of what's going on. _If _we should decide to that you'll spare us any snarky comments or crazed conjectures about our intentions. Because otherwise, I swear, I will drag you by your ear off this campus. Am I understood?" She didn't yell but her voice filled the whole hallway with its strength.

"I-"

"Am I understood, York Duchy?" York looked ready to argue further but, again settled for turning to glare at Ozpin.

"Yeah. I'll do it your way. I'll be sure to mention all of this to Headmaster Geat while I'm waiting for you, Doc. Gonna add anything, Ozzie? No? Headmaster Goodwitch here covered everything?"

"Headmaster Ozpin still thinks of you as a friend," Glynda said, "though why he does I can't even begin to imagine." She regretted saying that instantly, not for how it might hurt York, but for how little she meant it. York was repulsive to her, whatever his pains might be, but she knew well Ozpin's sufferance came from their shared sorrows.

"He must," York said, sneering, "he only leaves friends hanging when the action is required. Oz the Great and Terrible won't step in even now." York adjusted his white suit jacket and turned on his heel. He slammed the heavy door to the main tower as he left.

"You didn't have to be so hard on him," she heard Ozpin whisper. She turned, her eyes wide with shock. A second later that narrowed with laser-focus on Ozpin.

"No," she snapped, "_I _didn't have to be so hard on him. You should've been firm with him from the moment he showed up." Ozpin frowned.

"I was absolutely clear that he was to be seen and not heard. York has always been a talker. Its how he deals with things." Glynda scoffed.

"So we let him run his mouth and impugn our school? There are two Hunters with no support trapped in the forest right now but more importantly there are eight students wandering around with an Alpha Grimm. We could've avoided this. We should've avoided this." Ozpin took off his glass and pinched his nose, looking ready to scream.

"There is not point," he said, slowly, "dwelling on that now."

"No," Glynda said, "there isn't. But you disappear from the Observation Room without warning, apparently order a gunship prepared, and then waste time you could be using to let us all on in your plan trying to evade York Duchy. Ozpin we need you to be the Headmaster today. No more waiting to see how things pan out."

"I…," Ozpin said no more. He heaved a heavy sigh and leaned on his cane for support.

"Its coming unraveled, Glynda," he said, "I'm coming unraveled. The gunship might be able to break the trap around Oakley and Feral. The Furies are hiding again and whatever's commanding them is refusing to show its face. The Wechuge is in there somewhere, waiting for our next move." Glynda gasped.

"A Wechuge? Are you sure? When was the last time one of those was even spotted these deep in Kingdom territory?" Ozpin nodded.

"A long time ago, around the time of Mountain Glenn and that was a Surge. What ill luck. If its by the ruins I can't imagine it will stay hidden for very long after we start moving. If the gunship fails…ah, but I can't think like that."

"Ozpin," Glynda said after a deep breath, "let me organize a response with some of our other staff. They can all be ready to go in an instant if they know what's happened." Ozpin waved a hand at her.

"I have not shut down completely, Glynda, I understand the danger. But we already have two Hunters trapped in the woods and if we could send fifty in to relive them they'd still go in blind, half-prepared, and careless from concern. We work with what we have committed already."

"Ozpin," she said, "the children…" she went quiet when Ozpin looked into her face. A hardness had entered his eyes and reflected in them she saw the fires of Mountain Glenn.

"The children trained to be Hunters," he said, "and have survived this long. They need us but let's not discount them entirely. The gunship is fueled and Dakka is awaiting our instructions. We tell her to relieve Oakley and Feral first."

"Oz, even if that works the Furies will still swarm her if she tries to get close enough to the ruins." The Observation Room crashed open.

"Headmaster, Doctor Goodwitch," one of the grey-suited workers yelled, "there's a problem at the breach in the fence." Ozpin and Glynda shared a look and raced inside.

"We were diverting some of the cameras around," the staff member said, voice shaking, "and we just happened to come across it."

"No," Ozpin said, "so that's where he got to." A dozen beowulves lopped through the torn barrier, trailing a vanishing figure with a wide rack of twisted antlers. A moment later the camera bird was buffeted from the tree, the cackling of an Imp coming through amidst static crackling.

"Why would it leave where it knows it can find prey?" Glynda said, awe entering her voice.

"Because it wants to kill. It will gather whatever it needs and do anything it thinks will help. They'll be back to the ruins before long," Ozpin said, "we have to take advantage of that time. Dakka needs to take off now."

"Oz, she can't take all eight in the gunship we should put her back into the regular Bullhead," she said. Ozpin turned to look at her. She was, again, shocked by the intensity on his face. Ozpin gestured her to follow, barking that all Observation staff were to stay in their seats, and marched quickly down the corridor.

"It will take too long now," he said, "the gunship's arsenal might still make up the difference today." Glynda kept her peace as they raced past the Fountain of Orion. York paced there and glared at her as he spoke into his Scroll, but he made no move to follow.

"The Furies will swarm whoever doesn't leave, Oz, and I don't think four students can hold back their numbers. And if, god forbid, the Wechuge itself were to join the fight…" Ozpin unwound the green scarf from his neck and came to a stop at the launchpads overlooking the forest.

"The Furies will not be a problem." He the wind catch his scarf and carry it a few feet back towards the school.

"What are you doing?" she said. He smiled, staring into the woods with a look of fierce hunger. He was unnerving to behold in that moment.

He removed his gloves and took of his black jacket. These he dropped to the ground so he might unbutton the high collar of his white dress shirt, until it hinted at a scar-covered chest. He calmly rolled up his sleeves, revealing powerfully muscled arms, so pale that the scar tissue criss-crossing them seemed almost invisible.

"You and I will handle the Furies," he said, "please, go get ammunition and pass the word onto Dakka. We'll use a Run and Jump technique." Glynda glared at him.

"I don't think Dakka will appreciate being used as bait, Oz," she said.  
"She'll appreciate being shredded by Furies even less. Now hurry, Glynda we have precious little time!"

Their attention was captured by a burst of red light over the ruins. Ozpin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"_Had _precious little time," he sighed, "go now, Glynda. Every second counts."

The Wechuge, though it could not know it was called that, lifted its head. In the trees above him hundreds of his smaller brothers waited eagerly for guidance. At his back a dozen fresh beasts slavered and leapt as information ran through the space of their shared mind.

So many tiny, young minds lit up the shared brain like a small sun and the elder drank greedily from their knowledge. His brain focused on one, a distant flare of thought, back near the place where some many of its kind had been fighting that day.

Sadistic glee ran along its emaciated frame. It had abandoned the spot when the battle stopped but a single Fury, fighting every instinct to attack, had followed a new group of humans to the same place.

A sudden pop drew its head up, weighted down by its long antlers. Red light flashed against the blue expanse of sky. The Elder Grimm's mind ground out memories of the sight with all its strength. The information it was receiving, small as it was, overtaxed the small, cruel intelligence of its shared mind.

Even its cunning brain had limits and at last, the instinct that urged reckless violence subsumed the fragile self-control that had held it back to find more of its kind. So many young minds made it difficult to focus, in spite of the advantage it afforded, and the Elder let himself slip into the old role he'd had, long ago, when he too was young and fiery.

With a loud wail it's sluggish hooves tensed and shot forward. Behind him his brethren answered the call and frenzied. They burst forth into the sky and outwards across earth. Their prey would not escape this time.

**xxx**

_**Editor Note:**_

_**Hello all, we ar fast approaching the conclusion of the entry test arc, but team HARQ's adventures will continue to be uploaded here. We will take a hiatus to write the next arc, **__**_**so be sure to follow this story if you'd like to know where their story goes next! **_All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	11. This Will be the Day

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

xxx

It happened with all the abruptness and mystique of a magic trick. One second, the flare stood out like a splash of red paint on a portrait of the sky. The next, a hundred black dots swarmed the air like flies disturbed from a trash pile.

"Get under something!" Maya bellowed. She snatched Percy by the arm raced for the corner of the loggia.

"Not this crap again," Rip yelled, "this is getting so-" Rhod heard him yelp in surprise.

"Complain after we take cover," Hesh snapped, "Azeban, get Rhod moving!" Rhod was vaguely aware of his own name. There were so many Furies overhead, and with such speed, that he didn't entirely believe his eyes. His left arm was tugged sharply.

"Rhod," Ohlone grunted as she yanked fruitlessly on his hand, "come on!" He moved as if his feet had turned to stone.

_Tired. Ah'm so tired. _Falling against the wall, Rhod's face pressed into an ancient bas-relief. He took it in with a confused expression. Depicted in stone was a hundred smaller figures arrayed against a giant, scorpion-shaped monster. At the fore, a lone archer tensed a bow.

_How. _Rhod thought. _How on Remnant does anyone fight these things? It's like nothing be enough. _

Avian cackling chased the young warriors into cover. All of them except one.

"What is she doing?" Rhod heard Ohlone hiss.

"What are *you* doing?" Maya shouted. Rhod finally tore his eyes away from the bas-relief and saw that the courtyard, sun-drenched a moment before, was flickering with the shadows of innumerable circling Furies, casting a shadow so great it was like the sun itself was nothing more than a dim, dying light. A lone figure in black stared upwards, stoic as the carven images around them. Xanthus drew her pistols and began to fire.

On the far side of the courtyard, he saw his own team huddled behind the slim pillars of the loggia. Hesh was scanning every direction with rapid, half-crazed eyes. Rip had plastered himself to the wall, too shocked to move.

His heart fell when he saw Azeban there as well. Her ears were swiveling rapidly after all the noise before them. She caught his eye and a look of shame crossed her face.

"No!" Ohlone shrieked. The archer raced out into danger. Rhod, still not entirely in control of himself, realized he was following only when he snatched Ohlone up in his left arm.

"I'm right here," Xan rasped at the circling Grimm, "right here. Come get me!" The large guns in her hand were taking their toll, meager as it was. Surprised squawking crescendoed into a hellish wave of crowing. Rhod's boots pounded the uneven stones and he hooked his right arm out, aiming for Xan's waist.

He was lucky she was too distracted by her own rage. At the last moment, her eyes shot to him as he entered her peripheral vision. She fixed him with a furious stare as instinct had her pivoting on one foot in an effort to break free. He nabbed her around the middle, wincing as one of her guns misfired by his ear. There was the wheezing cough of a ricochet behind him as the bullet stuck the masonry.

He collapsed into the cover of the loggia once more, dragging the girls right along with him. Azbean was over them in a second.

"Rhod! Xan! Um..."

"Ohlone Falc," the archer groaned, rolling out of Rhod's grip.

"Get off me, you Atlasian numpty!" Xan snarled.

"Yer welcome," Rhod said, letting her slide out from under his bulk. Xan shot him a glare. She looked ready to wallop him and Rhod braced himself for just that chance..s.

"Xan," Ohlone said, in a sharp, warning voice that shocked all of them, "Rhod just saved us."

"Hmm, sure," Xan said. Ohlone put her hands on her hips and stared her down.

"What were you doing?," she asked, Xan's eyebrows shot upwards."That was stupid and dangerous. You are perhaps the meanest person I've ever met but you are also the only one of us who had any practical experience before today. Our team needs you-"

"What team?" Xan snapped. "We don't have a team! Percy screwed that up for us!" She crossed her arms and glared at the floor. Ohlone, undeterred, waited ten seconds for another outburst.

"Get that out? Good. You're the only one on our team with any experience. But you are not the only one _here. _Maybe Percy got lost because his partner wasn't helping him? Maybe he feels awful about it? Maybe you couldn't even be bothered to help him get to cover when we're all in danger?" Ohlone pointed towards the far end of the loggia. Maya and Percy were pressed into a corner, making the most of their limited space.

Rhod was too busy watching the exchange to notice Azeban. The Faunus' tail and ears drooped as she listened to Ohlone's indictment. The mist of fury vanished from Xan's eyes and she actually looked ashamed.

"I'll go get them out of it," she grumbled.

"No," Hesh's voice snapped across the small corridor, even at a whisper, "nobody

move. Stay where you are!"

A cloud of Furies descended on the courtyard. The vultures landed in mass, covering the roofs and courtyard in a shroud of black feathers. They hopped and cawed. Their wrinkled heads swiveled about and cast their beady red eyes in every direction.

Rhod found himself pressed into the same space as Azeban, Ohlone, and Xan. The spot was cramped already and his own bulk made it harder. A fact that Xan noted with a critique of his weight.

"Uh, Rhod," Azeban whispered, "do you mind if I...like. Well." He looked over his shoulder. His partner was pressed against his back, trying to keep the edge of her boots from entering a pool of light.

"Aye?" Rhod asked, keeping his voice low.

"Oh, jeez," Azeban's face turned red, "can I, like, climb onto you?" Rhod shoved his fist into his mouth, wincing at the taste of his own glove, to keep from chuckling.

"Alike a...piggyback ride?" he said. Azeban pulled her twin braids across her face in embarrassment but nodded.

"Aye. O' course." He felt her scramble up him, her weight barely pulling on his large frame. He shifted his hands back, grasping the girl's calves to steady her. It was calming to hold her there. It made him think of carrying his little sisters around.

Gods, how he wished he might get to see them one last time.

_What madness made ye think ye could be a Hunter? _

"Great," Azeban sighed, whispering in his ear, "I'm gonna die holding onto someone's shoulders like a five-year-old. Hesh and Rip can't see me, right?" Rhod smiled and glanced at their teammates. They were busy having a nearly wordless argument with each other. Rip was waving a little blue vial of Thunder Dust in Hesh's face. Hesh's contributions were mostly emphatic, unmistakable gestures of refusal.

_Not this time, Rip, _Rhod thought, filling in the words he imagined Hesh wanted to say, _these buggers will swarm ye if ye step outside. If'n ye could get a blast off they'd be too high for it to do enough damage. _

A light flicked on in Rhod's mind. He dipped his fingers to his belt.

"Hey," Azeban said, readjusting her grip, "what are you doing?"

"Ah willnae lie," he said, slipping a dynamite charge loose with the tips of his fingers, "a hoora bad idea." He held the red stick up to her. Azeban went cross-eyed trying to look at it. She chewed her lip but, after taking in the whole situation once more, nodded.

"Wha'," Rhod said, "really?" She gave him a sharp-toothed grin.

"Aye," she whispered, "but we have to get everyone on board."

"So tell us," hissed Xan, Ohlone nodded awkwardly.

"Sorry," the archer said, "impossible not to eavesdrop." Rhod rapidly, quietly, explained the power and potential of his two remaining sticks of dynamite.

"Lots o' Grimm. But these," Rhod said, "set off a couple hoora big blasts."

Xan opened her mouth, looking caught between mocking him and yelling at him. Ohlone's hand slapped over it at once.

"The only idea we have," she said into Xan's ear. Xanthus glared at her but gave a curt nod. Ohlone released her.

"You," Xan said, in a low rasp, "are insane, Atlas."

"Hey," Azeban hissed, "don't talk to my partner like that."

"A couple bombs, ringtail, will shred a whole lot more than just Furies!" Rhod rolled his eyes.

"Scare 'em up into the air, afore that," he said, "c'mon now, Ah'm no idgit. Blow 'em up in the sky."

"Yeah," Xan sneered, "how are we going to get the bangers up there, ey? Ask one real nice-like to carry them? Or was Atlas just gonna huck 'em and pray to the Elder brother?"

"Er," Rhod said, "Ah was 'opin...Ohlone might be able to shoot 'em?"

Ohlone snatched one of the sticks from Rhod's hand. She peered at it closely, taking in the shape and calculating the aerodynamics of it. She tested the weight and then drew a black, fiberglass arrow from the quiver at her hip. Her tongue poked out of her mouth as she concentrated.

"Yeah," she said at last, "I can make this happen."

"This is the stupidest plan," Xan snarled.

"Noted," Rhod said, "Rip and Hesh need to 'ear our wee plan. Them two as well." He gestured toward Maya and Percy. Azeban scanned the distance between herself and their teammates.

"No good," she said, "too much exposure."

"Much as I hate to say it," Xan said, "we need pretty-boy and his sneaky semblance."

" Xan stood up, pressing into the pillar, and took off her hat. She waved it in broad strokes at the two teens trapped across the courtyard.

Rhod watched Hesh, who had been trying to puzzle out their discussion from afar, start to dance with frustration. His eyes were filled with outraged terror and he made clipped motions for Xan to stop.

The surly young Huntress, whatever else she might be, wasn't totally without caution. She stopped as a curious Fury hopped close to the pillars of the loggia. Azeban tensed up on Rhod's back. Ohlone hid her face in her hands.

The creature turned and bounced back towards the flock. Rhod was afraid to take the breath he'd been holding, sure it would be too loud.

Xan grinned triumphantly. Maya and Percy had turned towards them, fully focused on their position. Percy, Rhod noted, had even taken his helmet off to see better. Xan jabbed a finger towards the ground next to her. Maya leaned forward, cocking her head. Xan pointed at Percy and then the spot once more.

"Get over here," she hissed. Maya gave an exaggerated, frustrated shrug.

Xan grit her teeth in a silent snarl.

Maya had raised a fist to her chest, right over her heart, and thumped it twice. Then she held up two fingers in the shape of a V. Xan's face twisted with fury.

"Is she trying to tell me to shove it?" she ground out.

A gesture in Rhod's periphery drew his eyes to Hesh. He was pressing his finger to his lips, looking as grim as the Ankou statue they'd seen earlier. He pointed in Maya's direction and then at himself.

Rhod reached out and tugged at Xan's pant leg. She gave him a withering look.

"Get her to look at Hesh," he said. Xan rolled her eyes but stabbed her finger to the left, down the loggia. The jaguar helmet turned that way, to everyone's relief.

Hesh lined himself up, extending enough of his body out to be seen.

"Oh, be careful, Hesh," Azeban whimpered.

He thumped his heart twice and raised a V with his fingers.

"What?" Xan asked. Ohlone gave a little gasp and then covered her mouth.

"Sorry," she said, "I think its hand signals. Like military code level stuff. That one is to identify yourself." She demonstrated the little thump and peace-sign gesture, grinning. "V. For 'Vale'." All of them, Percy and Rip included, watched the two go back and forth. Their heads moving like a crowd at a tennis match.

Hesh tapped his chest then the side of his head. Maya held up a finger, in a universal 'one second' gesture, and unstrapped her own helmet. Her black hair fell around her broad shoulders as she shook it loose. Her face bare, she nodded and tapped her ear.

Hesh shook his head. He tapped himself and then his throat.

_Not throat, _Rhod realized, _buthis vocal cords. Can't tell ye the whole plan via finger-wagging. _

Maya must've understood, she pinched the bridge of her nose gestured to the entire courtyard. Hesh shook his head. He pointed at them again. Maya shook her head and gestured, with clear irritation, at the Furies.

"Back to this," Xan muttered.

"Xan, last warning or I'll cover your mouth again," Ohlone hissed.

"Come on, Hesh," Azeban said, "you can do it. Think of something." Rhod glanced at her.

"Its all about imagination," she whispered, "he just needs to think." Hesh pressed his forehead against the pillar, eyes squeezed shut in frustration. Rhod noticed Rip hovering by his shoulder, clearing dying to know what was happening but wise enough to stay quiet. Rhod snapped his fingers, drawing looks of horror from his immediate comrades and, luckily, Hesh and Rip.

He pointed above his shoulder at Azeban.

"Rhod," Azeban groaned quietly, "just cut me a break." He shushed her gently and pointed at her pouting face. Rip stifled a laugh. Hesh turned to quiet him and suddenly grinned with an epiphany.

_Partner. Tha's right, Hesh. _Hesh grinned at Rhod and tapped the side of his head with a wink. He grabbed Rip's elbow and yanked him out into view with him. Rip eyes got really big but he valiantly stayed quiet. Rhod glanced back at Maya.

_Still watching, thank the Brothers. _Maya looked between the purple and grey-clad warriors. Hesh used both hands to signal. He thumped himself with one and pointed at Maya. She nodded slowly. He thumped Rip twice, ignoring the sour look his partner gave him and pointed at Maya again.

The tall girl put her hands on her hips, facing twisting in thought.

"Oh, come on, big girl," Xan muttered, "it's so obvi-" Ohlone covered her mouth with both hands and refused to remove them. Xan's outrage was obvious but, thankfully, she swore revenge with her eyes only.

Maya slapped her own forehead as she caught Hesh's meaning. She nabbed Percy by the shoulder and drew him forward. Everyone held back the sigh of relief that passed over them when Hesh, smiling weakly, tapped his head and nodded.

Percy for his part of communicating was shaking his head quite rapidly. Maya pulled him aside and knelt down. What words they exchanged, Rhod could not tell, but after a long moment Percy nodded, though he looked utterly petrified. Maya hugged him and helped him put his helmet back on.

Maya sent Hesh one last hand signal. Both hands extended left and right, down the only two avenues of the loggia. Hesh pointed right, toward Rhod's group. Maya nodded. Percy nodded and then vanished from sight.

"Ok," Ohlone said, "time to tell Percy the plan." Xan struggled but Ohlone didn't budge. "Sorry, Xan, but this might be a good policy." Xan's eyes flashed and Rhod seriously wondered if she might bite.

There was a long, anxious moment of waiting before Rhod felt an invisible finger poke him in the side. He almost bit his own tongue to avoid yelping in shock.

"O-ok," Percy stammered in a soft whisper, "what's g-going on?" In hushed voices, they brought Percy in on their desperate gamble. He remained invisible throughout but, Rhod noted, the steadily increasing metallic shimmer of his armor gave away his opinion. Percy was scared witless. Not so much that he couldn't criticize the idea.

"B-but how you g-gonna put the dynamite on O-Ohlone's arrows?" Rhod couldn't control himself enough to avoid wincing at that very pertinent question. Percy's armor began to make a small racket as he shook. A few Furies started twisting their heads in interest.

Xan shoved Ohlone's hands away and stared hard at the empty space where Percy stood.

"You are clanking like a tin tap-dancer, pretty boy," she hissed, "don't worry about that and move on with the message. Take it to those two." She jammed her thumb over towards Rip and Hesh. "Chop-chop. And quit trembling so much."

"C-can I squeeze by?" he asked hopefully. The small corridor was crowded by their desperate attempt at space. Rhod and Azeban shared a pained look. Ohlone wrestled with the horrible feeling of saying 'no'.

"You take the long route," Xan said, "and you take it now." The shaking noise faded away slowly after a moment. Xan snatched the end of Rhod's flannel shirt and ripped off a long strip of it. He almost complained.

"Give me those dynamite, Atlas, and you, chatterbox," she said to Ohlone, "pass over some arrows. While I do this you two figure out how we kill the Grimm without killing ourselves."

"Ok," Ohlone took a deep breath, "is there a trigger delay on this?"

"Aye," Rhod said, "aboot ten seconds. We'll need 'em in the sky afore you twist trigger."

"Just ten?" Ohlone said, giving the dynamite an uncertain look. Xan had wound the first explosive around one arrow, tying it off in a sloppy little bow. Azeban sighed in Rhod's ear.

"Gimme, Xan, I'll make sure the whole thing doesn't come apart. Sorry, Rhod, try not to move too much." She lifted herself so she sat on Rhod's shoulders, giving her a delicate balance to use both hands. Her ears twitched as they scraped the the loggia's ceiling.

"Awright," Rhod said, his peripheral vision cut off by his partner's knees, "so count a' ten. Then fire."

"Loose," Ohlone said, "you 'loose' an arrow not...you know it isn't important. Like at all. I chatter when I'm nervous."

"Just when you're nervous, ey?" Xan groused, looping the other explosive-arrow together.

"Xan, hand me that one before you drop it," Azeban said, passing the finished product off to Ohlone. The archer looked it over and tested the weight. She frowned.

"What?" Rhod asked. Rhod's helmet suddenly pressed down over his eyes, pushed by Azeban's left hand.

"Sorry," she squeaked, "almost lost my balance."

"These'll pull to the right when I loose. I'll need time to line everything up." Rhod could hear the doubt beginning to flood her voice. "Maybe this isn't a good idea. If it goes wrong, we're... we're dead. We should come up with something else. This is too-" she was cut off. Rhod wrestled his helmet up a little and saw Xan covering Ohlone's mouth.

"You're nervous. I can tell cuz you won't shut up."

"Ohlone," Rhod said, "ye'll 'ave a ten-count. Aim where the buggers bunch up. We dinnae need to kill 'em all. Just scatter 'em. Ye think Percy's got to Hesh and Rip yet?" Azeban handed off the other arrow and carefully climbed down to hang on Rhod's shoulders.

"Yeah," she said, uncertainly. Rip was staring at them, hands gripping his hair, with eyes the size of dinner plates. Hesh's face was pinched with thought but the beads of sweat running down his neck gave away his doubts. He seemed to meditate for a moment, taking a deep breath and exhaling, then he gave them a firm nod.

Rhod watched the lad whisper something to an empty bit of space and then press himself against the wall. When Percy tip-toed up to them, he managed not to stutter. He gasped everything in one, quiet breath.

"Hesh says to split up and come at them from at least four sides. He'll take the corner down there with Rip. Rhod and Azeban need to take the one further up. After I get back to Maya we'll jump in from our side. Xan and Ohlone, he didn't know your names but I told him, are supposed to take the corner past him and Rip. When you're ready, let him now and he'll start moving. He says he'll give everyone ten seconds before he and Rip start attacking."

"They'll see us moving!" Xan snapped.

"I don't know," Percy said, irritation under the ever-present fear in his voice, "Hessian said it!"

"It won't matter," Azeban said, sliding down to her own feet, "if we can drive them into the air that's where they'll congregate. Go tell Maya."

"Can I-" Percy started to say.

"Long. Route." Xan growled. Hesh and Rip flattened themselves against the wall to admit Percy as he went back. Rhod stood, grimacing at the pain in his legs from squatting, and hefted his hammer. Azeban drew her glaive, machete style, and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

"Hey," she whispered, "I'm sorry for being kinda an ass earlier." Rhod smiled and fixed his helmet on properly.

"Naw problem," he grinned, "Ah dinnae give piggyback rides to people I dinnae like."

"Great," Azeban said, frowning, "I'll never hear the end of this, huh?" Rhod glanced at the Furies.

"Ah hope ye never do, Azeban, truly." Percy materialized back with Maya and gave her a rundown of everything. Rhod feared they'd lose momentum if the girl didn't like their plan. But Maya sodlieried right away, donning her helmet and giving them all a stoic nod.

"Ok," Ohlone whispered, nocking the dynamite arrow in her bow, "let's do this."

"Hang back until you see at least half of them taking off," Xan said, waving away any potential protests about how that mettled with Hesh's plan, "then get stuck in with those bangers. You'll have them totally off of you, focused on us. Chatterbox, waste either of them and I'll be very sore with you."

"Yeah," Ohlone said, "of course, right."

"So breathe," Xan said, "and prepare yourself."

The moment that followed stretched itself out into an hour as all eight of the warriors prepared their trap. Rhod locked eyes with Hesh and gave him a grin.

Grey eyes flashed with lightning. Hesh pulled Rip along with him. They raced through the loggia, the pillars flashing them in and out of sight, like an old time projector.

"One Minami River," Ohlone counted, rooted to her spot, with a tremble, "two Minami river."

"Go!" Azeban hissed. They spun around and made for the far end. Rhod willed his feet to move quickly. Quiet wasn't an option for him. Indignant, questioning cries started up throughout the courtyard as the Furies took notice of their movement.

He didn't have time enough to see how everyone else had moved into position. Hesh's voice, when he shouted, nearly made Rhod drop his hammer in surprise.

"Vale and King Simon!" A chorus of cries followed him in.

"Alala!" Percy's voice cracked as he yelled.

"We're a-hunting!" Xan cried, laughing over the crash of her guns.

"_Alsoda!" _he heard Azeban cry, in a language he'd never once even heard of. He answered with his most bearlike bellow and stepped into the sunlight.

He stomped a Fury before it could fly, feeling an unfamiliar thrill as the bones cracked under his boot. Quicker than he'd moved yet, he snatched a squawking beast straight out of the air and then splashed it against a pillar.

In hundreds, the Furies rose, black and cackling like a coven of fairytale witches. The mass of them chose to circle, while the few dozen that stayed near the ground split off to pick at the children.

"Eight Minami River!" He heard Ohlone shriek over the cries of Grimm and Hunter.

A rapidly blinking red light seared across the black flock of monsters. It vanished in the mass of swirling feathers like a shooting star disappearing into the night sky.

Then it burst like a supernova.

The blast was loud and, for a moment, robbed Rhod of all sound. He was pelted with a rain of chunky, seared meat and feathers. He was shell-shocked. The Furies that hadn't been caught in the blast weren't faring much better. He saw two of them actually fly smack into each other and plummet to the ground, like something out of a cartoon.

"Where are they going?" Rhod heard Ohlone say. He's eyes darted to the explosive-arrow nocked across her bow. The top was dark. He heaved a sigh of relief.

In the sky, the black cloud of Furies, halved by the explosion, was dipping and rising off in the direction of Beacon. Around the edges, some of the vulture-monsters were ripping each other to shreds but not in so great a number as to diminish the remaining flock.

"Mayhaps," Rhod slurred, slowly coming back into himself, "they're hoora confused." He gave a drunken swing of his hammer and sent a Fury splattering onto the courtyard stones.

"Don't wait," Xan shouted, "finish off the rest before they get their feet!" Rhod's teammates set to that task with fierce energy. Hesh carved up Furies left and right, managing to marry graceful wings of his saber with the cold efficiency of a butcher. Azeban did not move an inch without thrusting her glaive, spear or blade end, into one of the dazed creatures waddling on the ground, too dazed to fly.

Rip, with a casual look on his face, simply wandered around touching them with his right hand. The beasts under his fingers spasmed and dropped dead from little zaps of Lightning Dust.

Percy and Maya made their own efforts with shortsword and bloodletter, respectively. Xan, of course, was unparalleled in the savage undertaking. She refused to use her guns except as bludgeons. Otherwise, a black bootheel was her weapon of choice and it claimed a dread price amongst the surviving Grimm.

Rhod slumped to the ground, watching the battle-turned-massacre reach its end. His helmet clicked audibly against stone as reclined on a pillar. A second later he began to laugh. Pure, disbelieving laughter.

"We o'ny did it," he said to Ohlone, between deep brassy guffaws, "we o'ny went an' bloody did it! 'Orion' Falc!" Ohlone, endearing herself to Rhod all over again, actually blushed and smiled shyly. She looked for all the world like a bashful goalie, not quite believing she'd made the game-deciding save.

"It was a team-eep!" Maya, covered head to toe in patches of dark blood, had snatched the archer off the ground in huge bear-hug.

"Who's a big, bad Huntress?" she said, ripping a laugh from her partner with a little spin.

"Me!" Ohlone yelled.

"Finally shut up and do something useful. For once." Xan said, grinding Fury's head into pulp under her heel. She gave Percy a sideways glance. "Good to see you get involved for once, pretty boy. Hey! Talking to you, Percy." The armored youngster was breathing heavily and leaning against a pillar. Xan rolled her eyes and wrenched his helmet off. "Take a breath, for god's sake, before you pass out."

"Th-thank you, Xan," he said. Xan used her sleeve to buff some of the blood off his helmet.

"Yeah, you're welcome," she said. Rhod felt his eyelids fluttering closed, sleep dragging him down deep inside himself now that the danger had passed. A gentle shake woke him up.

"Oi," he mumbled, "c'mon now, let a man rest, ain't Ah earned that?" Azeban's smiling face was framed by the clear blue sky.

"That and more," she said, softly, "well fought, Rhod. More than that, well planned. Come on, partner. You can sleep when we get back." Rhod crawled himself up the pillar and back to his feet. He and Azeban strolled over to join Hesh and Rip.

"Wha' was that word ye screamed earlier? All-soda?" Azeban snorted.

"_Alsoda. _It means 'let's go'. Back home its...well it's just a word. In an old language. From my people." Rhod squinted at her.

"Ye dinnae mean 'Faunus' do ye? Ye mean yer family." Azeban nodded.

"Where's home?" Rhod asked. Azeban stopped and considered him for a long moment.

"Rhod," she said, halting, "it's not that I don't trust you but...you see...I can't just-" a huge hand settled on her shoulder.

"Ah'm from Atlas," Rhod said, "and Ah have two little sisters."

"Mistral," Azeban said, brightening, "One older brother. Six little ones."

"Hoora big family," Rhod said. Azeban nodded and she felt the vice-grip on her heart loosen.

"...good chance that was our exfil they were chasing off," Hesh was saying as they approached. He had whipped a cloth from somewhere and began to wipe down his saber with care. Rip, limbering up and looking nervous, shrugged.

"Don't say that," he said, "please, Hesh? You're probably like, one-hundred percent right, but just please don't say that, dude. My heart can't take. I swear I've aged forty years, today."

"We wait?" Azeban asked. Rhod yawned, loud and long.

"Seems like some of us could use the rest," Hesh said, a little smirk on his face, "outstanding work, Rhod. I admit I had my doubts about your plan but...well, the results lay softly melting around us." Hesh's nose twitched and he sneezed as the rotting stink of the Grimm.

"Tha's me," Rhod said, "hoora smart and full-up wit' good idears."

"We might-" Hesh's idea, plan, or opinion was lost under a horrific wail from outside the Mausoleum. Rhod's exhaustion gave way to fear. Hesh spun around on his heel and raced for the gates. Rip, sputtering, chased after him. Rhod and Azeban follow.

"No," he said, as they beheld the clearing on the far side of the dead river. Dozens of beowulves had emerged and caught sight of them in an instant. They leaped about, smacking the ground with their clutching paws, snarling and baying. Four pairs of feet raced up behind Rhod.

A large shape, like an overgrown elk, emerged from the treeline and stood at the back ranks of the throng. Azeban made a like she'd been touched with a hot branding iron.

"Wechuge! Oh, oh! Inside! Everyone inside! We can't out run it!" As if hearing and understanding her words, the Wechuge leaned back its antlered head and let loose another hideous wail. The Beowulves howled in response and began to lope towards the little bridge that spanned the river's side. Xan gave a scared caw of laughter.

"Of course," she said, "the one side that we didn't rig to blow. We're trapped like rats!" The first Beowulf to get within thirty feet of the bridge began to snarl at them, rising on its haunches to beat its chest. Ohlone acted one instinct, Rhod couldn't blame her for that. She nocked the first arrow handy, the one tied with his last dynamite stick, and loosed. He dropped his hammer and raced after it.

"Rhod!" Azeban's cry of alarm was far away. He bounded down the steps, skirted the rim of the riverbed and grappled the monster on the bridge as it rushed to meet him. The arrow lodged in its shoulder, taunting Rhod with the bright red against the dark, shaggy fur. He reached out and twisted it.

_One Minami River. Two Minami River. _He snarled in the things face as they wrestled atop the little stone bridge. He dug his heels in and pushed. A half-dozen monsters had crowded up behind the first, eager to surge around their comrade and swamp him. The first Beowolf, a blinking light speeding up at its shoulder, tumbled back into them.

_Eight Minami River. _He heard Hesh screaming at him to turn back and run. It intermixed with another, long wail from the Wechuge.

_Nine. _He breathed deep and summoned his aura. He smelled deep, dark earth and heard the ringing of metal on stone. He had not died in the shadows of the mines and he refused to die in the sunlit woods. The Grimm surged forward like a black wave and he thrust his hands out to stop them.

_Ah will not move. Ahwill not be moved. _

_Ten. _He shut his eyes. It did not keep out the blinding light, orange, angry, and fringed with black smoke. But just before it bloomed, he saw the shimmer of gold that signified his semblance.

In the less than ten seconds it took for the blast to happen and vanish, Rhod's life flashed before his eyes. Stone flew past him and glanced off his stomach like grains sand against a cliff.

Then, spent, his aura did not shatter so much as fall apart like a disintegrating wine glass. His legs vanished from beneath him and he bit the inside of his cheek as his shoulders smacked into the ground and his vision went blank.

xxx

_**Editor Note:**_

_**Hello all, so sorry for the repeated delays. We've been having a rough month but that seems to be at an end. This chapter has gone through a few versions in the interest of quality, but we're satisfied finally with how it shaped up. We hope you're ready for this arc's epic conclusion!**_

_**All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	12. Huntsmen

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

_**xxx**_

Glynda's teacher, the late Huntress Elphaba Viridescent, had warned her that few plans survive contact with Grimm. As she watched the Overkill, Beacon's armored assault airship, suddenly bank backwards from a rising cloud of Furies, she considered an addendum to the rule.

Few plans survive contact with Grimm. None survive contact with teenaged Hunters-in-training.

She didn't have a chance to curse, question, or call a warning to Ozpin before the red light of an explosion swallowed half of the flock. She'd almost have been proud if not for her sheer terror.

Dakka proved every bit the pilot one could hope and managed not to get caught in the blast. She proved herself twice the pilot when the Furies

started to attack with almost instant ferocity.

The Grimm were disoriented and disorganized by the sudden loss of so many of their numbers. But enough remained bunched together, and, she thought with a shudder, commanded by the Wechuge, to keep an attack pattern.

Next to her, Ozpin was calmly speaking into the headset she'd brought over from the hangar.

"Lead them back," Ozpin said, "as we planned. Yes, I can hear Oakley objecting. Remind her that two Hunters might survive a fall of several hundred feet but one pilot and her airship will not. We're ready." The vehicle dipped towards them, trailing the snaking shape of the flock.

"Ammunition?" Ozpin asked. Glynda shoved over a metal tray, one borrowed from Beacon's hangar, and spilled out hundreds of small, round objects. They twinkled in the sunlight.

"Ball bearings," she said, "it was that or steal some glassware from the cafeteria."

"Fantastic," Ozpin replied. He drew a deep breath inward and began to form an image of his own hands in his mind. He tapped into a semblance he'd not used in some time. A brilliantly emerald aura rose around him, radiating immense power.

"Hey!" An unwelcome voice snapped. Ozpin was inside his own world. Glynda turned to face York Duchy.

"Just what in the blue-sky, bug-eyed, bat-winged hell is going on now?" Glynda bit back her instinctual reaction and spoke to him Hunter-to-Hunter.

"Trouble," she said, "as you can see clearly, York. Stand with us. Ozpin has told me you were fearsome in your day." York sneered.

"'In my day'. I'm no biscuit, Doc, so don't try buttering me up. Ozzie has screwed up in a big way and that," he pointed at the fleeing airship, "just gave me about fifty new questions I expect to get answers for." York glared at his old schoolmate and, to Glynda's shock, his face wrinkled with concern.

"He'll overtax himself," he said, "just like when we were kids. Ozzie's got raw power but no common sense. If he comes unglued...it'll be worse than losing his aura." He fished in his coat and pulled out a small metal object. It elongated into a marching baton.

York's sour look was briefly hidden by a curtain of blindingly alabaster light. Glynda could not hide her awe as the old Hunter's semblance worked its particular wonders.

To either side of the thin, badly dressed man were lines of faceless soldiers armed with muskets. A rifle regiment of ghosts.

"Incredible," Glynda gasped. York gave Ozpin a final, half-hearted glare.

"Yeah," York mumbled, "I learned a long time ago it pays to watch your own back."

Ozpin extended one arm outward, still utterly oblivious to their words, and Glynda watched a shimmering recreation of his hand, green as his aura, slowly fazing into existence.

The fwip-fwip-fwip of the airship blades became audible. A second later so did the cackling cries of the chasing Furies.

"Run and Jump?" York asked, his rifle-men phantoms kneeling into firing position. Glynda's aura flared to life and the ball bearings floated upwards like a swarm of bugs.

"She'll circle around the tower," Glynda said, "we'll have a clear field of fire for maybe-"

"Teach your grandad to suck eggs, doc," York's eyes flashed, "I learned this one when you were still in kindergarten." The senior Hunters tensed as they prepared to spring their trap.

Hesh was the first one down to Rhod's side. He ran his hands along his friend's broad torso. He counted the right number of limbs. He checked, with shaking fingers, the thickly muscled neck for a pulse.

Unbelievably, the Atlasian lived. Not for the first time, Hesh felt utterly flummoxed.

Hesh's day had been filled with violations of every standard hammered into his head by drill instructors and military professors.

Procedure. Policy. Ifs. Ands. Buts. The ceaseless preparations that underscored the very tempo of war were shredded and tossed in his face like confetti.

He'd been certain they would all die in the courtyard. Certainly, he had no plan for fighting a flock of birds. That simply wasn't covered in Officer Training. Here lay unconscious the one person who'd seemed to have any clear idea what to do, even if it was just a desperate gambit.

Hesh had been relying on others all day. It ate at him constantly and drove in the icy spike of fear that everything his father had said to him was right.

_You will not be a Hunter, Hessian Krane. _hose words had stung like rock-salt. The idea had lingered in his head like an oracle's dire warning. It had grown more deafening with every failure and false start. Yet, at every turn, there had been someone there to catch him.

"Hesh," Rip's voice was edged with worry as he ran up. There was a dreadful, unspoken question on his mind.

"He's alive," Hesh said. He sounded strangely calm to his own ears. Rhod had just survived, nearly unscathed, a blast of dynamite. His aura had held and kept him safe.

The Grimm were capering around the field. The Wechuge watched them with evil glee. The Beowolves themselves bared their fangs like grotesque grins.

_Good, _they seemed to be thinking, _we can kill him ourselves. _Hessian's insides threatened to come up into his throat as he watched them. Such rage was beyond normal human endeavor. Rhod hadn't been able to turn it back with all his strength and cunning. Hesh figured he had zero hope.

Azeban didn't bother asking any questions. She checked Rhod for herself and worked her jaw in silent fury.

The bridge was in shambles. The Beowolves would need to piece together a new way onto their little island if they could jump the gap. It was a more lateral problem than the beasts were used to solving.

Hesh had precious few minutes to act. But everything he'd ever learned howled at him to run, even if that was a death sentence in and of itself. This wasn't how a modern military fought. They didn't charge into the woods with spears, swords, a few measly firearms, and hope their courage made up the difference.

His lessons in school were all about hanging back and taking as few risks as possible. Wear the enemy down by starving them, destroying their supply lines, bombing them with impartial machines, and flooding their institutions with the right kind of agents.

All of it was one big engine of pain and suffering. Whatever the cause or intention, Hesh could not shake the feeling that the army, or any army, was little better than a giant monster meant to serve man's worst impulses.

Battlefield tactics, perennial as they might be, entered into the equation only in the direst sense. Honor, discipline, and a sense of purpose, all those things Hesh had hoped would fulfill him, were not a requirement for it to function.

His indecision turned to rage as he remembered that last, horrendous night he'd spent in the barracks. The failed leader of a squad that hated him. The one bit of solace he'd had was old stories of Hunters that Corvo had told him. They'd come flooding back out of the mist of his childhood, cloaked in new glory.

Orion the Hunter, who united warriors, without concepts of nation and status, to stand against a foe no mere army could defeat, loomed like a giant over the dead dreams of a life in the military.

He insisted to his father, and as much to himself, that being a Hunter had always been his dream. Because to do otherwise would give voice to his worst fear.

The army that his father, whom he loved, had devoted his life to was little better than the Grimm.

He'd seen Grimm now and he understood there was a world of difference between himself and something as fierce as the Wechuge. That knowledge gave rise to a new epiphany.

There was no conflict in human history that mattered more than this fight.

_Maybe I'm not meant to be a Hunter. _He thought._ But I'm certainly never going to be a soldier. _He stopped looking at their situation like a trooper and tried to think like a doom-driven warrior of legend. Anything was possible and no limits were acceptable.

He gave voice to a terrible plan.

"Get Rhod back into the courtyard, Azeban," he said, a crisp order entering his tone, "I'm going to get their attention."

"You're what?" Rip squawked. "Hey! Don't go crazy, Hesh. We need to run!"

"I need to run," Hesh said, falling into calisthenics with practiced ease. He went on as he limbered up. "You need to get Ohlone and Xan down here, right away. They've got range. Maya and Percy might help Azeban get Rhod somewhere safe."

"But-" Rip was looking at him like one or both of them had gone completely insane.

"I'm not finished," Hesh said, "you need to use whatever lightning dust you have left and fire on that big bastard with the antlers." Hesh smiled.

"Save the day again."

"Can we talk about-"

"No." Hesh unclipped his docker's clutch and handed Rip his gun. "Keep that if things get desperate. I won't have much use for it unless I want to weigh myself down." He idly took off his sword belt, ready to hand that away as well.

_No normal person would think a sword could help here. But a Hunter might think that way. _He unsheathed the Finalword, tossing the fine sheath and belt to the dirt.

"Why are you stripping?" Rip asked.

"Honestly," Hesh said, giving him an uncertain smile, "I don't want to question anything too much. I might lose confidence. I'm going to run left as far as the treeline. Then I'll throw myself into the riverbed. If I make it that far, cover me as you all can." He got right in Rip's face, gray eyes flickering like thunderheads. "Not before! Understand me, very clearly, do not do it before! And not until Azeban gets Rhod to safety. And, Rip, you fire on the Wechuge, not anything chasing me. Got it?"

"Hesh, listen to yourself!" Rip was scared.

"No time, Rip," Hesh said, "you still have Thunder Dust?" Rip nodded.

"Yeah, but, Hesh, I'm not as good with it as Lightning Dust." Hesh shot him a confused look as he shortened the blade to a few, manageable inches and held it in a reverse grip.

"So?" To Hesh's mind Rip might as well have said he was better at working miracles with his left hand instead of his right.

Rip, for once, had nothing to say.

The Wechuge wailed and the remaining Beowolves, about fifteen now, began to move in on them once more. Hesh took a few steps back and crouched down. He needed to yell something or he'd never move, so great was the fear inside him. The old military war-cry, 'Vale and King Simon', didn't seem quite right to him anymore.

An idea popped into his head. It brought a smile to his face, foolish as he thought it might sound. Briefly, he pictured a small earthquake in the cemetery behind Crane Manor as generations of his ancestors all rolled over in their graves.

"Beacon!" He yelled and as he propelled himself forward he cried out, "Orion!" He leaped.

The shattered bridge was a long jump, though not nearly as long as the riverbed itself. He cleared the lip of broken stone with an inch to spare and nearly slid through a long, black stain the exploded Beowolves had left.

He turned it into somersault that made his aura flare as he rolled over uneven stonework. He popped up, always mindful of where his sword pointed, and found himself faced with an approaching Beowolf.

It lunged for him. Hesh dogged to its right flank and brought his weapon to bear. Before that day, Corvo's trick blade had been little more than an impressive idea to him. A cunning weapon in a duel, where a few inches could sneak around an unwary opponent's guard. He never saw its use otherwise. Azeban's dexterous precise use of her own collapsible weapon had gotten Hesh thinking.

He compressed a button and let the saber extend to its full length. It speared the Beowolf under its arm. The monster's own momentum ripped itself nearly in-half as the metal passed through meat and bone. The creature didn't even make a noise as it tumbled into the riverbed.

"Damn!" Hesh heard Rip exclaim. He spared a glance back at his partner and tried to grin like he knew what he was doing. Rip's eyes bugged.

"Run, Hesh! What are you doing? Run!" Hesh's feet obeyed before he turned around fully. Another Beowolf had closed the distance to the bridge, with five brothers on its heels. Hesh squeaked as he ducked a catching claw.

The hardest part of the plan was trusting himself not to try looking back at the Mausoleum. To do so would be death. Another cry from the Wechuge gave him some hope that his plan was working. It sounded like a high whine of frustration.

Certainly, the sound of many panting, barking creatures roughly ten yards behind him was not his imagination.

_Won't listen to you, _Hesh thought with a mean, breathless laugh, _it's a special kind of hell when nobody listens to you, isn't it? _

Dark shapes in the corner of his eye killed even the maddest spark of laughter. His stomach dropped as he realized his plan was working very well.

He didn't dare try to read the battlefield at this point, but three of the creatures, those furthest back from the Mausoleum, had abandoned all order to chase him. The Wechuge was glaring at him from its spot, but otherwise motionless.

They'd catch him at a diagonal before he reached the tree-line.

A gunshot sounded behind him. One of the three Beowolves dropped out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to scream in frustration as he failed to control his own pack of monsters.

If it all fell apart they would be swarmed. His ears were pricked for the more shots but all he heard was raised voices. Rip's and Xan's.

_Outstanding work, Rip. _Rip might hem and haw before the danger hits but Hesh had him somewhat figured all his self-deprecation and doubt, Hesh had caught on that Rip was a warrior at heart.

Xan probably simply didn't like being told what to do. Especially when that order was not to kill Grimm.

The treeline was coming up. All this was for nothing if Azeban hadn't gotten Rhod inside. His hopes were pinned on them all and, he realized, he trusted them far more deeply than anyone he'd met before.

Corvo and his father were living examples of what Hesh was feeling now. The bonds of those in combat are forged of iron.

There was a crackle of lightning and an indignant cry of pain. The Beowolves yelped. He spared a glance. His heart soared.

The stupid things had all followed him, true to form, and now there were tumbling into each other in a way so cartoonish Hesh felt the urge to laugh rise up once more.

They rolled into each other, biting and swiping, unable to do anything other than flop around in confusion. The Wechuge was not dead, but Hesh could tell it was thoroughly stunned.

On the Mausoleum's embankment, Rip was hopping up and down, waving his arms and shouting. Hesh had slowed down and his partner was saying every variation of 'move your ass'. Rhod and Azeban were gone. Ohlone and Xan stood in their place, trying to parcel out what was happening.

Amazing. Every single one of them was incredible. Unlike him. His best contribution to this was to run like a maniac and lean on others to do the hard part.

He'd needed someone else to find his sword for him. Azeban had.

He'd needed saving. Rip had done it twice now. While making time to help him come down from a panic attack.

Rhod had stepped in with the plan and the action, all without his input.

As each of them grew taller in his mind Hesh realized how small he really stood. A useless trunk that needed to be carried half the time. He extended his blade out to its full length.

He turned right and abandoned the embankment.

"What?!" he heard Rip shriek. Hesh made a beeline for the Wechuge. It kept leaning on a different leg at variables. The lightning had really knocked it off balance.

_I've got it. _He wanted to say to them. _I won't let you down anymore. I can't be as good as any of you but I can at least not be useless. _

The Wechuge's head hung down, like its antlers were about to pull it straight to the dirt, and Hesh raised his blade. It was an emaciated and brittle thing begging to be put down.

An orange eye caught him and the antlered head moved faster than Hesh could ever have feared.

A dozen spearpoints of pain bloomed all over him, pushing his aura nearly to its breaking point. His sword flipped away from him as he was hurtled over the creature and onto the ground.

The gray light that protected him shattered as he landed on his back. Alike a meat-tenderizer slammed next to his head, unevenly.

_It's still stunned. And I couldn't even hit. _Hesh felt shame mixed with the horror of his situation.

A maw of jagged teeth roared in his face. The smell of rotting plants filled his nostrils and drove him to his feet.

He feinted right, then jolted left to get by. Sharp pain in his rear-end sent him hurtling to his hands and knees. Tears of fury trickled down Hesh's face.

Worse then the bruising, shallow ache was the sheer humiliation of getting kicked in the behind. He shuffled through the grass and managed to catch sight of his sword. Its gleam was hidden in the clovers of late summer.

_Like its hiding from me. _Hesh thought bitterly.

He snatched it up and swung wildly as he turned around. The Wechuge had not advanced, it was having too much trouble staying balanced. His sword whistled through the air and Hesh followed its weight back to the ground.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to make a break for the Mausoleum. He'd never make it. A heavy droning noise was becoming clear and it made him fear that he'd hit his head on something. He didn't have the wherewithal to question what or how. He was too scared.

And far, far too flooded with shame. There was a chasm of difference between him and the worst Hunter in the world.

The Wechuge wanted him bad. He heard it start to prance after him, giving little yelps that sounded like mocking laughter. From his right, the Beowolves answered with howls of delight.

He pushed himself to the limit, barely maintaining a sprint in favor of a flat-out, gutless run.

_You will not be a Hunter. _

Hooves filled his head and he had the horrible little thought that he did not want to die.

The world dropped from under him and he fell forward.

The daze that followed was like waking from a nightmare. His legs and hips recognized the movements under him before he even saw the flowing mane on a thick, equine neck.

A spectral horse, made of rosy-pink light, was suddenly galloping under him. His instincts kicked in. He wrapped his arms around its neck and squeezed his thighs about its back. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. The rocking motion of its body carried him forward like the unleashed wind.

Two things occurred to him. The first was a large, bird-like shape slowly ascending from the Mausoleum. The second was a dull ache forming in his stomach from riding bareback.

The horse reached the riverbed and jumped it. Hesh squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the phantom mane. Smells hit him. Hay, heat, and gunpowder. A woman's laughter, the kind that ends with a snort that only draws another giggle, filled his ears from nowhere. Warmth flooded him and soothed him.

The horse landed and he nearly lost his breakfast at the impact. The ghost-steed folded gently to the ground before it vanished. Hesh came to the earth of the graveyard with a gentle descent as it disappeared. He curled up around himself weakly, trying to stomach the pain welling up from his groin.

Someone threw their body on top of him.

"Hessian, lay still!" He barely had time to register Huntress Oakley's voice before the resounding percussion of guns filled the world.

Ratta-tat-ratta-tat-ratta-tat-tat. The earth danced to the tempo of heavy Gatling guns.

Oakley lifted herself off of him. She crouched next to him and he wished with all his might she'd go away and leave him with his misery. A hand pressed between his shoulder blades and rubbed in a small circle.

"Easy," Huntress Oakley said, "easy, there. It's alright, son. It's alright." He hated how much her words soothed him. He was being patronized, of that he was certain, but he still let himself swallow it.

"Dakka Rooivalk!" Feral's voice cracked with joy. Hesh heard him race over from the Mausoleum. "You bloody, goddamn ace! Oakley, how's...oh, sod, is it bad?"

"He's alright," Oakley said, "get the others across the bridge...or y'know don't cuz its all wired." Feral snorted.

"There but for the grace of Percy Bronze would've gone I. His team wants to see him, Oakley." The Hunter hesitated. "Is that ok?"

"No!" Hesh said into the grass, ears burning at the very idea. He couldn't summon the strength to stand. Oakley's hand started rubbing into his back with more force.

"Tell them he's fine and get them across."

"Roger," Feral sighed, "take a few breathes, Hessian."

"Exactly," Oakley said, "a few breaths. It's alright."

He lost himself in a memory. He'd left military school on a night of horrific, turbulent weather. He had sat in the foyer of his family's manor, miserably uncertain what to do with himself.

A hand on between his shoulder blades. His father's voice in his ear.

_ Everything's alright. You're alright._

It hadn't been when Hesh finally told him what he wanted to do though. After that, he was a foolish, naive boy who didn't know what he was getting into. Nothing was alright or ever would be again. His father hated him. His mother probably hated him now too. Corvo would lose everything for him. All for a stupid dream that wouldn't go anywhere.

His hands brushed his pocket and the speartip of the little pawn figurine poked him. A dim hope slowly dawned in his mind. He had the relic. After all of it, he still had the relic, whole and unbroken in his pocket. Curled up on the ground, Hesh sobbed. A part of him rebelled. It insisted that Hunters did not cry.

"There you go," Huntress Oakley said, "let it out." Hesh did not feel so certain she was just trying to make him feel better anymore.

"Th-thank you," Hesh sniffled. She held out the Finalword to him. Hesh realized he hadn't even remembered dropping it. He took it in hand, his fingers aching as they curled around the hilt.

"I can't begin to condone your method, Hessian Krane," she said, "but what you just did took real grit. Regardless of how it came out." Hesh looked away, hiding how flushed his face was, and stared in awe at the field before them.

Soil had been scattered in every direction like a giant had come along to till the earth. Smoke was still wisping into the sky. The Grimm, it seemed, had been atomized utterly.

"What happened?" he asked. Oakley guided him down into the riverbed then up into the graveyard. Hesh smiled weakly when he saw Rhod, awake but clearly groggy, leaning heavily on Hunter Feral Greystoke's left side. The Hunter pontificated at Rip and Azeban.

"...to say nothing of leaving yourself with no clear exit. I might've stepped on that bridge myself! Xanthus Sabbatarian is getting a stern lecture when we get back to the school."

"Are you still on about that?" Rip whirled and before Hesh could react, raced up to him. Hesh nearly recoiled at the look of rage tensing Rip's face.

"Why!" His voice cracked as he yelled in Hesh's face. "Why did you do that? You idiot! Do you think I want to see you die?"Rip's thin chest heaved with the force of his breathing. He looked terrified and Hesh felt shame rush over him once more.

"Rip!" Azeban snapped. She left Rhod reluctantly and tried to place her hand on Rip's shoulder.

"No!" Rip thundered. "What was that out there? What happened? Why would you try to throw your life away?! After everything we've done this morning! After all the crap we went through to get here, why would take such a stupid risk?!" Hesh stammered a response.

"The Wechuge was stunned, I saw a chance to kill. It…" Rip pulled at his own hair and growled.

"That's not good enough! What about us? What if it killed you? What would we do?"

"Rip," Azeban's voice was heavy with emotion, "Rip go easy. Hesh didn't mean-"

"No," Hesh said. His teammates stared at him. He felt like an utter fool once again. He thought he knew shame when a few moments ago, cradling himself and nursing a kick to the behind. The terror and betrayal in Rip's eyes filled him with the first real shame of his entire life. And unlike a bruised ego, there was no pride at stake in trying to deny it.

"I'm sorry," Hesh said, managing to keep his voice level. "I thought...no. I'm just sorry. I acted without thinking...no, I thought too much...that was the problem." Rip looked him over suspiciously.

"Never again," he said, his voice was quieter but lacked none of its intensity. "You never do something like that again. You promise me right now." Hesh couldn't help smiling.

"I promise."

"Don't smirk when you say it," Rip groaned, "just… say 'I Hessian Crane will never do something that stupid again.'" Rip crossed his arms.

"I, Hessian Crane, will never do something that stupid again." Azeban smiled at him from over Rip's shoulder. "I swear." Rip's shoulders sagged and rubbed his face.

"Good." He said. "Thank you." He sat on the ground and let out a loud snarl of frustration.

"Rip?" Hesh asked.

"I just want to go home." Rip said in a dead tone. Oakley tried to soothe him.

"The airship will be back in-"

A tortured, hideous wail made Hesh's blood turn to ice. Rip and Azeban looked up in horror at Huntress Oakley. There was a far-off look on her face.

"Hey!" Feral snapped. "Someone come get this guy off me!" Azeban raced over to obey and gave a little yelp when Rhod's whole weight nearly brought her to the ground.

"Oaks lets get round and...and…" the veteran Hunter's voice trailed away. Hesh turned around and saw the Wechuge. It had leaped onto the Mausoleum island and now stood just across the riverbed from them.

Its antlers had been shattered. The left side of its face mask had cracked away, revealing oozing, oily meat around a popped orange eyeball. Its maw hung open, broken, like an imitation of disbelief.

The body was near ruin. One leg limped badly and another held on by a few tendons. Meat and insides dangled down under its belly. A rare few spikes and spines remained intact.

"No," Rip whimpered, "c'mon. Give us a break, already."

Feral shushed him without taking his eyes off the monster.

Hesh understood the Hunter's caution. He now knew better than to underestimate it, even maimed as it was. The two Hunters slowly prepared their weapons, trying not to excite the creature into action.

If it stayed there until the airship came, things might go alright. The risk was in its ability to shake off even fatal wounds in favor of a final, deadly attack.

Hesh was spent. His team was spent. The Hunters, for all their ability, looked spent as well.

_Stalemate. _He thought. It brought an image into his mind. The little pawn that rested securely in his pocket.

_Forward to the boundary. From there all roads are open._

The Wechuge's one remaining eye seemed to spark with fire, its busted jaw began to work around another wail.

"Oh, sod." Feral groaned. He drew a knife. Oakley took aim. Hesh knew it wouldn't be enough to stop it before someone died.

Hesh knew it was too fast. He grinned, despite his rising fear.

He raced forward, sword held high and screaming at the top of his lungs. He made for the little bridge that Xan had booby-trapped. Rhod was the only person who didn't scream at him, largely because he was still too out of it to comprehend anything.

The Wechuge's brain fired up every instinct still intact. It answered the challenge and, where it might have simply scrambled in a straight line across the riverbed, it made a break for the bridge. Limping and half-formed it still put on a terrifying burst of speed.

Hesh could've laughed. Of course, the monster had tossed him around. He'd tried to match suicidal rage with a thing that was its living embodiment.

Hesh waited until he saw it incline its head, eager to skewer him with non-existent horns before he made his move. His heel dug into the earth and his ankle flared with pain as he pivoted. He cast himself down behind a collection of headstones, shielding his face with both arms.

There was the single clop of a hoof meeting stonework. The whole world exploded.

Cold air buffeted Hesh and almost immediately a belch of fire licked it away. His hair stood up as lightning crackled and then flattened beneath a gale of wind.

He pulled himself to his feet, ginger with his ankle, and observed the final scar of their battlefield.

There was nothing left of the Wechuge. Scorch marks and frostbite blanketed the wall of the Mausoleum, breaking his inner historian's heart. The Ankou statue remained intact, he was happy to see, and still pressed a finger sternly to its hooded mouth.

_A bit late for that. _Hesh thought.

When he limped back over to his comrades, all of whom had thrown themselves into cover just in time, he was confronted first by Huntress Oakley. She gave him a hurried once-over, frowning with worry when she saw how he favored his ankle, and then scowled.

"Detention," she said, "three weeks. I'm going to explain, very clearly, the difference between grit and being stupid.."

"I wager he might be learning that already, Oaks," Feral was careful not to smile too wide at Hesh. Oakley rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said, "one week."

Azeban simply hugged him with her free arm. A second later Rhod managed to join in though he confessed he wasn't quite sure what the trouble had been.

Rip gave him a long look, arms folded over his chest. He shook his head, sighed, and gave Hesh flick on the ear.

"Less than a . That _has _to be a record." Hesh managed a smile, eyes flicking over to the approaching silhouette of the airship.

"I do try, Rip," he said. "Hate to ask but...I twisted my ankle breaking my promise. Can I get a hand?"

"You'll might get a couple hands," Rip grumbled, moving to assist him, "upside your head." Hesh grinned.

"Thanks, partner."

"Shut-up, sap." Rip said against a smirk of his own.

**xxx**

_**Editor Note:**_

_**All forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. This story will upload new chapters on a weekly basis, so check back next Sunday for an update. Thank you for reading!**_


	13. The Action of Today

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

**XXX**

"Sage," the voice said to him, "Sage." Ozpin scowled.

Go away, he thought, just because I used my semblance doesn't mean I want to chat with figments of my imagination. Go away. I'm not speaking to him.

"Ozzie!" His eyes shot open. He was standing stock-still, arms outstretched towards the Emerald Forest. He came back into his own body slowly and felt himself aching all over from the strain of using his semblance.

"We won, Ozzie," York said, his tone flat, "go us. Like twenty minutes ago."

"I see," he said, "very good." He looked at his old friend and smiled sadly. "Not even combat can close the gap between us, old friend?"

"Ozpin," York said, "your little helper is seeing to the last of your new kids. She made me stay here with you until you were back to reality. So, with that understood, just go. Believe me, we will talk about all of this." There was loathing in his voice and Ozpin's heart broke a little more.

"York," Ozpin said, "it's not what you think."

"What is it then? Hmm? Cuz I think you sent some new cadets into the forest unprepared, to save this school's already trash rep, and now you're lying to me about it. What miraculous occurrence accounts for a Wechuge being part of an entry exam!?" Ozpin winced.

"You wouldn't understand," he said, "you wouldn't even try to understand."

"Sure," York said, "I get it. I turned my back on this place. That's what Glynda says anyway. Don't bother looking contrite or nothing, Ozzie, cuz she's right. Hear me? One hundred percent correct. I did turn my back on this place and you know exactly why."

"York, can't you be an adult about it," Ozpin growled, his patience worn completely away, "I suffered through Mountain Glenn the same as you." York's hands wrapped themselves up in Ozpin's collar and wrenched him around. The two old friends glared into each other's eyes and Ozpin waited for York's next move.

"No," York's voice was low and serious, "no, you didn't suffer through Mountain Glenn exactly like I did. You didn't call on me for help and watch me leave you there. You know what, Ozzie? I've had an epiphany. I didn't turn my back on this school at all." He let Ozpin's collar go and backed away. "I never turned my back on anything. Not me." He put his hands in his pockets and slouched away further into the campus.

Ozpin stood alone on the cliff's edge, the Emerald Forest yawning beneath him, and tried his best not to collapse.

"The children," he said to himself, collecting his things, "I've got to go see to the children."

Seniors, juniors, and sophomores had descended on the first-years in droves to hear their thoughts on the very particular type of First Day of School that Hunter academies provided. There was excitement lingering in the air of the dinner rush and its laser focus were eight students who'd come limping in last of all.

Beacon was, after all, a school of teenagers. The rumor mill had already weaved a dozen possible reasons for the brief but titanic showing of prowess by three senior hunters on the cliffs of the Emerald Forest. Oakley and Feral had dissuaded the more enthusiastic upperclassmen with the promise of a full rundown at their first lessons.

"Go stuff your face, Danielle Flowers," Feral chided one, "and think about how much better you'd do in Applied Hunting if you asked this many questions about your schoolwork." He threw the kids a nod and strode to take his place with the rest of the staff, all more reserved but no less eager for news, at the head table of the long hall.

The last two teams were attacking their food with all the ferocity they'd shown the Grimm. Still, certain important matters were given their due and none were as important as tallying up scores for the day.

"So what I'm hearing," Xanthus said, grinning like a jack-o-lantern, "is that the Wechuge was, technically speaking, my kill." Rip wiped his lips and took a long sip of water before speaking. His stomach tried to tell him that witty banter could wait until he'd had a second helping of chicken salad.

"Hey, in all honesty, I don't want to give Hesh credit for it either," he shot his partner a playful glare, "but it was his crazy, stupid never-allowed-to-even-think-about-it-again plan that killed the thing." Hessian spared him an eye-roll but otherwise focused on carving a strip of pork tenderloin down to thin, precise pieces.

"Wait," Ohlone broke in after a long drink of lemonade, "if that's how we score it then who gets credit for the Furies? Me for doing it or Rhod for coming up with the idea?" The Atlasian held a hand in front of his mouth to speak while he chewed up a slice of pizza.

"Ye take it, Ohlone," he said, "Ah'm alright." Azeban's ears perked up.

"Hey, Rhod, don't just give it away like that we," Azeban belched into her fist, "woof, 'scuse me. The arrows were hers but the dynamite and the strips of your shirt should count. And I tied them on. That's an 'us' score."

"By that metric," Hesh said, dapping his lips with a napkin, "in fact the Wechuge was Xan's kill. Her dust. Her effort to rig it up. My own humble role as bait doesn't quite snatch the prize, sadly. I shall content myself with just being alive." Xan's grin grew like a switchblade.

"Ha! How bout that, ringtail? From the lips of loony himself." Hesh grimaced at the nickname.

"Since I gave you credit," he said, "might I ask you just call me by my name?"

"Sure thing, fancypants," Xan said, she leaned back in her chair and rested her boots on the table, "we get the Furies. We get the Wechuge. I'm thinking it's pretty clear who 'Top Huntress' is around here." Her grin faltered suddenly and her feet, of their own accord, rose up off the tabletop.

"Humility is a virtue, Miss Sabbatarian," Dr. Goodwitch said, she approached from the entryway, a small smile on her face. With a flick of her wrist Xan's chair righted itself, her feet planted themselves on the floor, and, as an added touch, a napkin floated up to wipe a stray drop of gravy from her cheek.

"Xan's humble," Maya snickered with a wink at Percy, "she didn't even mention how she tried to take on a flock of Furies all by herself." The tall girl withstood Xan's glare with a little smirk. It vanished at the look Dr. Goodwitch sent her way. There was the barest hint of a scold in her face that Maya had only ever gotten from her mother.

"I imagine that, eventful as the day was, not everything went precisely as planned," she said, "and you're all to be commended for the way that you fought. And that you fought together."

"I didn't mean anything bad, Dr. Goodwitch," Maya mumbled. Glynda smiled.

"I know," she said, "but a team must know when to bicker and when to boast in even measure. One great Huntress is not nearly so valuable as two good Huntresses working together." She turned to look over them all and her eyes fell on Hesh.

"Though I understand there were a few standouts," she said, "and while I'm sure your teammates and instructors have already weighed in, Mr. Crane, I hope you forgive a final comment." Hesh went red and nodded. "It was very brave, what you did." Hesh's shock was obvious enough to make her smile grow. "Dangerous. Very dangerous and reckless. It could've ended much, much worse. But that doesn't change the fact that it took courage."

"Dr. Goodwitch," Azeban asked, "what happens to us now? Are we...are we teams?"

Rip's appetite left him as he heard Azeban's question. The warmth of the table cooled as he realized the full implications of that question. He'd survived the day. He'd done what Roe had urged him and given the Hunters a chance. The idea of ever going back out into the forest to fight on the edge of life-or-death appealed to him not at all.

"Well, if everyone has eaten enough," the Huntress said, "there is a small, traditional matter to mark the occasion. If there are no objections?" Hesh rose before Rip could and nodded emphatically to his team.

"Very well," Dr. Goodwitch said, "Mr. Crane. Miss Quinn. Mr. Henry. Mr. Winkle." Rip's eyes screwed and he silently wished for oblivion. He heard Xan's crow for a minute.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, "what was that last name?"

"Miss Sabbatarian," Glynda said sternly, "Miss Falc, Miss Nahautl, and Mr. Bronze. If you could all follow me."

"Rip?" Azeban whispered to him as they left the dining hall. She was trying not to smile too much.

"Want me to really blow your mind? My first name is Quentin."

"Why do you call yourself Rip?"

"Because I wanna be taken seriously every so often," Rip muttered. "It's short for Ripley. My middle name."

"Oh," she said. He watched her try the name out in her head. She covered her mouth against a giggle. "Sorry. I'm so immature. Your name's-"

"Super goofy," he sighed, "but thanks." She cocked her head in confusion. Rip threw an arm around her as they walked. "For apologizing. Not everybody does. Just call me 'Rip'?" Azeban grinned and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, at an angle from their height differences.

"Of course," she replied.

"Had me a mate by the name o' Polly-Polly Pepper," Rhod said, "back home in Ainnis-Clotch." Everyone winced. "Aye. Polly got inna hoora lot o' fights."

"What in the world was the second Polly for? Were his middle and first name the same thing?" Hesh asked.

"His ma picked it oot," Rhod said, "his middle name was Kal."

Rip asked the obvious question.

"Polly-Polly Pepper loves his ma. He'd never wanta go by any other name."

"That's...actually pretty sweet," Azeban said. A second later she started to crack up. Rhod joined her with a bear-like chuckle and Rip snickered. Hesh shook his head at their antics though that just gave Rip a chance to catch his grin.

They found Professor Ozpin waiting for them at the Fountain of Orion. Rip noted that he was leaning on his cane more heavily than earlier. Other than that, his dark glasses and crisp clothing gave no indication of fatigue. Rip realized the Headmaster could be stone-cold if he wanted to be.

"I hate to interrupt anyone's dinner," Ozpin said, "but I think its best if this is done now before the day catches up to you completely." Rip stifled a yawn at the thought of sleeping. They hadn't even stopped to shower, they had been so hungry. Some of them were still strapped for a fight from the waist down.

"They're ready, Headmaster," Glynda said. She took a step forward and placed herself alongside Ozpin. They stood on either side of the fountain, where the statue of Orion's muscled back tensed an arrow at the night sky. Far beyond, Rip saw with a twinge of homesickness, the lights of Vale City glowed like a carnival above the dim, green midnight of the Emerald Forest.

It was all so quiet and peaceful now that he hardly believed the day had happened.

"Might I see the relics?" Hesh, Rhod, Maya, and Xan all held out their chess pieces. Rip noted with interest the intricacy of Xan's knight. It sat astride a rearing horse and hefted high a blank, fluttering banner. Next to that, the pawn tightly gripped in Hesh's hand seemed a little more noble and daring. The confidence in the tiny figure's stance made sense if, just behind him on the chessboard, a champion like Xan's knight reinforced him.

"Excellent," Ozpin said, "and well done to all of you. Today has been a very long, very trying day. It does my heart a great deal of good to see the eight of you here." Rip winced and felt the chicken salad in his stomach churn.

"It is the tradition of this Academy," Dr. Goodwitch recited, "in keeping with the first orders of Orion the Hunter, to bring up the next-generation in teams of four. When Scorpio, an immense Grimm, ravaged the kingdoms of ancient Vacuo, no army of men could stall it. Heroes marched out, heroes fought, and heroes died. Until Orion came from Mistral and gathered an army of heroes. No single warrior could claim the glory of killing Scorpio alone but Orion understood that glory was secondary to the safety of Remnant."

"From every corner of the world," Ozpin said, smiling with pride, "the heroes came together, Orion at their fore, to face the monster. Many of them fell, all of them were scarred forever in the combat, but in the end, Scorpio fell and the day belonged to the survivors. These were the first Hunters." Ozpin looked between them all. "This morning you were all as good as strangers, this evening you have tasted the oldest, bitterest war that ever plagued the people of Remnant. Before we assign teams and you start down the path of the Huntsman I ask that you reflect. Is this what you want? Are you prepared to go forward? Might or luck is nothing without heart."

Rip felt his heart sink. He couldn't possibly ruin this moment for Hesh, who'd wanted nothing less than everything Ozpin had said, but he couldn't commit the way the Headmaster wanted. He didn't know if it was what he wanted. He didn't entirely know what he wanted. He was bitter to be on the outside of what must've been for his friends the single greatest moment of their lives.

"Headmaster," Percy's voice was soft, but held not even a small tremble of uncertainty, "I am not." Ohlone couldn't stop a gasp and Rip looked at Xan with wary eyes. Xan was unmoving and unreadable, she waited for her partner to go on without comment.

"Mr. Bronze?" asked Glynda.

"In the forest," Percy said, "I fired my flare before we found the ruins. I got lost and I was scared. I know I cannot be a student here now, I've made peace with that, but I'm asking that you let Xan, Maya, and Ohlone stay. They're warriors. Real warriors who could be great Huntresses and they don't deserve to have me drag them down." His lip quivered. "I'm never going to be a Hunter. It was stupid of me to try and...and I don't want to mess up someone else life just because I can't stop doing things-"

"Percy," Xan snapped, "stop. We get it." Percy nodded and wiped away a tear.

"Mr. Bronze," Ozpin said, "was Beacon your first choice?"

"Sir?" said Percy.

"Of academies," Ozpin said, "this wasn't your first choice was it?" Percy frowned and looked like he wanted to sink into the pavement and hide away.

"No, sir, I wanted to go to Haven. I couldn't pass the exam so I came here instead." Rip's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Do you want to be a Hunter, young man?" Ozpin asked. Percy's shimmering eyes beheld the Headmaster with clear confusion. But a moment later he nodded.

"More than anything, Headmaster. More than anything in the world." Ozpin smiled and gestured to the fountain behind him.

"Then what is a moment of fear? There was a time we never gave out flares. There was a time the Hunter's Academy was down there in the Emerald Forest, where all those ruins now sit. Times change and the world changes with it. The rules we put in place must bend and shift or they'll simply shatter under the wrong kind of pressure. I won't lie to any of you. The Hunters need new blood. They need you."

Rip felt the spell Ozpin's words had cast break around him and his lip turned in a scowl.

Cool. So that's how it really is, huh?

"Thank you, sir," Percy said, "I'm h-honored."

"Any other objections?" Ozpin asked.

A few. Rip glanced at his friends and their eager, expectant faces. But they can wait til after this little ceremony.

"Then Xanthus Sabbatarian, Ohlone Falc, Mayahual Nahuatl, and Perseus Bronze," Ozpin said solemnly, "I welcome you to the Beacon Academy and look forward to helping you grow into young Hunters."

"Another of our traditions is the adoption of colors as names. Henceforth your team shall be called Team Zomp." Xan rolled her eyes and mouthed the word. "Which you shall be leading Miss Sabatarian."

"Me? Hang on a moment-" Percy nudged her and shushed her. Xan reluctantly did as she was told.

"Hessian Crane, Azeban Quinn, Rhodizite Henry," Headmaster Ozpin said, his eyes twinkled as he looked Rip in the face, "and Rip. I welcome you to Beacon Academy and look forward to helping you grow into young Hunters." Rip gave him a pinched smile and a nod.

"Team Harlequin," Dr. Goodwitch smiled, "you shall be lead by Hessian Crane." Rip smiled at Hesh out of the corner of his eye.

Hesh's face looked like he'd heard the time and date of his death read aloud.

"Students," Ozpin said, "tomorrow is yours to move in and unpack. Please, enjoy yourselves and get some well-earned rest. Dr. Goodwitch will answer any questions you might have." Rip resisted the urge to start after him as he limped away on his cane.

"Room assignments are prepared, if you'll all follow me," Dr. Goodwitch said.

"Team Zomp," Xan griped as they began to trickle away from the fountain and toward the white towers of the dormitories. "Is there a name more ridiculous?"

"Coming, Rip?" Hesh asked. Rip stretched and yawned.

"Yeah, just," he thought up a lie, "need a minute of fresh air. I'll find it no problem." His team gave him a curious look but let him be. Rip smiled sadly as they left.

"Sorry, guys," he whispered, "I'm sure we all could've gotten along really well in the long run. But this...this isn't me." They were well past the point where they would hear him.

He followed after the Headmaster with all the guilt and stealth of a petty thief. He finally caught up to him at an odd, abandoned corner of the main campus.

The paved walkway slimmed and stopped in a circle around a standing block of black granite. Ozpin disappeared around behind it and Rip crept forward. Across the reflective face, which mirrored Rip's whole body, some soft light brought out a somber epitaph.

To Commemorate those in the Classes of 1835 and 1836, who gave their lives in the defense of Vale City and all her people, this stone is offered by a grateful nation in shared grief. May it bear the memories, of heroism and heartache, that belong to all Remnant.

Beneath them was a quote Rip recognized from Martian the Wanderer's Deadliest Hunt.

'I did not write half of what I saw, for I knew no-one would believe me.'

And further below that he read.

Class Song of 1835: 'Am I alright? Hey. Not tonight. Save that question for tomorrow.'

Class Song of 1836: 'Baby, you better know, I'm not like anybody else in this world.'

Snippets of old pop-songs. Neither of which he knew by heart. But something in them made him realize he'd started to tear up.

"Can you believe they put his name up top?" a voice snorted behind the stone. Rip bit back a gasp of surprise.

"It was in no particular order, York," Headmaster Ozpin sighed, "you must understand that."

"I understand that Ketch Headsman was a top-tier a-hole. You know he used to punch me, right here," Rip heard York tap himself, "whenever I was the last one out of the lockers. This is after you kicked him to the curb Sophmore year, by the way."

"You never said," Ozpin replied.

"Didn't want you to think less of me," muttered York. Rip heard a match strike

against the face of the memorial.

"York!"

"Don't start with me," York snarled, Rip heard him puff a few times and smelled cigar

smoke curl around the black stone, "don't even try to start with me."

"You asked to see me, York, I didn't realize you would be here. What do you want to

know?" Rip leaned closer out reflexively, his reflection had adopted a look of covert fascination.

"Dot Blue-Gingham, Brave Leo Tawny, and that total waste of air Ketch Headsman.

And dozens of other unlucky kids who decided to go play Huntsman. My god, what were we thinking? What were you thinking, Ozzie? That's what I want to know. What were we thinking trying to dress up in Orion's legacy?"

"I meant," Ozpin said, sounding exhausted, "what did you want to know about today?"

"Oh," York said, "well, I figure you'll just lie to me about that any which way I ask it so let's just save us both the time. Huh?"

There was a long silence that made Rip quiet his own slow breathing for fear he might be heard.

"Wow!" York exclaimed. Rip nearly jumped. "You aren't even denying it anymore. You aren't even giving me a holier-than-thou look that says I'm wrong."

"I am tired, York," Ozpin said, "please. No games."

"Right," York sniffed, "no games. What do I really want to know? From you, Sage Ozpin? Let me ask you point-blank. Why didn't you help me?"

"I don't under-" Ozpin began.

"Don't even try that with me," York snapped, "you understand perfectly. Why didn't you help me? Why'd you leave me standing on Harley Street, Dot's blood on my goddamn shoes, so blitzed with terror I couldn't even remember my own name. Why? Why'd you do it?"

"York, that isn't fair," Ozpin said. York erupted.

"Nothing is fair! Nothing about anything we do is fair, Ozzie! Wake up to that right now cause I've known it for nearly forty years! It's not fair our friends died in Mountain Glenn! It's not fair every real Hunter was clearing the Grimm off Menagerie when it happened and we were left holding the bag!"

"I know, York," Ozpin said, "I was there too."

"I'm not saying you weren't, Ozzie. I'm asking you why did you leave me by myself when you could've helped me!"

"York," Ozpin said, "I'm sorry."

"I don't care if you're sorry," York thundered, "I want to know why! I stood there with Ketch Headsman dying next to me, Oz! Dying. Grabbing my hand and mumbling about his mother and I'm trying to find a way to make him feel ok because what else am I supposed to do? Then, right then, in the middle of the worst day of my life, who's that up the alley? Framed in the light of a burning high-rise? Oz the Great and Terrible! Hero of the Class of 1836! Savior of all Vale City!"

"York!" Ozpin snapped. When York spoke next his voice trembled.

"Did you lose your nerve, Ozzie? Where you scared? If you were scared, just tell me. I was scared. All of us were. None of us was even twenty-years-old and they sent us into a meat-grinder. Was that it? Were you scared? Just tell me if you were scared!"

"No," Ozpin said, sounding not at all proud or defensive, "I wasn't scared."

'Then why? Why didn't you help me?"

Ozpin said nothing.

"I'm sorry," Ozpin said, "York, please believe if nothing else that I am so, so sorry I left you there."

"Why should I? Why should I ever believe you about anything?" Rip heard York grind something, his cigar most likely, under the heel of his shoe. "You gonna talk to our eavesdropper or should I?"

Rip covered his mouth as he gasped.

"Don't start in on him, York," Ozpin said, his tone suddenly dangerous.

"Me? Who, me? I got no reason to be ashamed. I ain't said a thing I wouldn't want someone else to hear about me. He can spread that around the dining hall tomorrow for all I care." York coughed, snorted, and spat. "Unless you want me to read him the riot act?"

"I'll handle him," Ozpin said, Rip rolled his eyes, "Rip? Come on around. What's on your mind?"

Rip rounded the corner and was faced with the small, sad sneer of York Duchy for a moment. The bitter Hunter turned away and considered the names on the memorial once more. He muttered something that Rip didn't catch.

"Are you here to tell me you're not going to join us, Rip?" Ozpin asked. He was sad, disappointed even, but Rip got none of the harshnesses he'd been expecting.

"I-yes," he said.

"I see," Ozpin shifted his stance a little, leaning on his cane more, "well, I suppose there's no talking you out of it. Hmm? If you're heart's not in it then there's not much point. I said as much to Mr. Bronze." He offered him a sad smile. "Take the night to rest up and we'll handle it in the morning. I'm sorry that you won't be joining us."

"What a load of crap," York said bluntly.

"Excuse me?" Rip asked. He felt tempted to fall into a ready stance when York looked at him. There was an intense emotion in his face that made Rip nervous.

"You. You little punk. And you, you washed-up old wimp," he spat at Ozpin, "just patting him on the head and letting him go. Have some self-respect! You're always going on at me about how much this school means to you but the first reedy kid to say 'o-oh I-I-I don't think this is f-f-for me' just gets a little smile and a wish good luck."

"I didn't say that!" Rip said, face flushing.

"No," York said, shooting him a sour frown, "you couldn't even pony up the guts to do that! You couldn't say this in front of your teammates at all! Huh? For god's sake kid you fought a Wechuge earlier today why the in the world is this any more frightening than that!"

"York!" Ozpin snapped. York whirled on him.

"No, shut up! You're going to stand here in front of Dot, Leon, Toto, and that asshat Ketch while trying to say 'don't be too harsh on the kid'? What about them, Ozzie? What about us? Did anyone ever go easy on us?"

Rip and Ozpin stared in silence as York took a few huge breaths of air. He fixed a stray strand of his dyed ponytail before speaking again.

"Kid," he said to Rip, "you march right over to the dorms, find your team, and tell them you're quitting. And don't start with me about it because that, however you slice it, is what you're doing! You are quitting! If you were leaving tomorrow to go kill every Grimm in the world by yourself you would still be quitting the Hunters. That's not the problem I got with you cuz I know better than most how tempting that idea is!"

"York," Ozpin said, more softly, "you don't mean that."

"Screw you," York growled, "and everything you think you know about me."

He jabbed his finger into Rip's face.

"If you can't tell your teammates that you want to quit," he said, "you don't deserve to do it! I don't give a rat's bald tail if you're gutsy or gutless. I don't even care if you don't want to be a Hunter or not! But you do not have my permission to go anywhere or do anything until you tell your team, to their faces, that you are quitting!"

Rip was speechless.

"No?" York said.

"I-I," Rip stammered, "I can't."

"Well, then," York clapped him on the shoulders, making him jump, "welcome to Beacon, kid, the taps in the locker rooms are always reversed. So make sure you keep the temperatures reversed! Ozzie, I'm leaving."

"So soon?" Ozpin asked. Rip watched his face twist with sadness as he watched the hunched, leisure-suit covered shoulders slouch away toward the front of the school.

"I have had enough of this place for another lifetime," York said over his shoulders, "and I'm ready to give my report."

Rip and Ozpin stood in the memorial circle for a minute before either of them spoke.

"He-" Rip started and hiccuped. Ozpin looked at him.

"He's wrong about me," Rip snapped, sniffling a little.

"Don't take his words too harshly, Rip," Ozpin said, "York's...had a very hard life. He lost a lot of his friends when he was no older than you."

"Yeah, well, good for him! I'm not...I don't have to do what he said! Right? I can just go if I want to?" Ozpin nodded.

Rip's eyes traced the dozens of names written across the memorial. Their syllables formed out inside his head in vague guesses at how to say them. He wondered what their nicknames were and what inside jokes they'd had.

Who hated the class song and griped about it every chance they got? Who was brave? Who was just lucky? Who were they?

"My classmates," Ozpin said. Rip realized he'd spoken aloud.

"They died?" He called himself stupid for asking such an obvious question but the way Ozpin answered soothed him.

"Yes," he said, "in Mountain Glenn when the whole world was ending. There weren't enough Hunters in the city, you see. So many were in Menagerie, trying to clear the way for the initial settlers who'd build the cities where the Faunus were...forced to go."

"That," Rip said, anger ringing his voice, "that's the reason Mountain Glenn fell? Because everybody else off clearing a prison island so some assholes could send millions of innocent people there?" The Forced Migration was the darkest stain in recent history. He'd never learned from anyone, school or otherwise, how it bled down the fabric of time and into the horror of Mountain Glenn.

"There's an old belief," Ozpin said, "that Grimm feed off negative emotions and that is why they are so dangerous in times of war and strife. But belief forms around reality, not the other way around. Yes, Rip, many of my friends died because of that terrible injustice."

"That's not fair," Rip said.

"No," Ozpin replied. Rip's fingernails bit into his palms as his whole body trembled with feeling.

He read the last bit of script, written at the bottom of the list of names.

And all those, unnamed and unnumbered, who fell beside them on that night.

"I'll stay," he said, "I'll stay for now." Ozpin's hand touched his shoulder and Rip felt himself empty of the pain that seemed to be his whole world.

"Thank you, Rip, for trying," Ozpin looked past the monument and at the high spires of the Academy. The white arches seemed to reach out and cradle the black stone in arms of ivory. "Trying is the action of today. Success is the question of tomorrow."

**XXX**

_**Editors Note: Hello All! This chapter was delayed significantly, mostly due to complications in my life (I'm moving) which lead me to decide this chapter would go up mid-week to make up for lost time. I hope you all enjoyed this arc, we have a final epilogue chapter to round things out, but this phase of HARQ's story is finally done! We will be taking a break from HARQ after uploading our epilogue this Sunday, it will be on 'temporary hiatus' until we've had some time to adjust to life changes and just take a break from the "every weekend" upload schedule for a while. **_

_**It's been much fun to write all of this, and wonderful to know others are reading it. We hope you'll keep up with us once we return. As always, all forms of feedback are welcome, so please leave a review if you like. Thank you for reading!**_


	14. Epilogue: The Question of Tomorrow

_**Disclaimer: HARQ is a fanwork of the Rooster Teeth Animated Production RWBY. All characters from the original cast of RWBY are owned by Rooster Teeth. **_

_**Special thanks to eliort on for their artwork contributions. Thanks to Hector for editing. **_

**XXX**

"Ok back there?" Qrow asked as their buggy took another rough bump. Tin Steadfast clung to the handle of his seat. His face was especially pinched and sour in the full light of day.  
"If you ask me that after one more bump, Qrow Branwen, I'll be shouting that over my shoulder as you go flying off the back of this piece of junk!" Qrow's raspy voice was lost in a bang from the old engine but his chuckle was clear as day. "What'd you say, punk?"  
"I said, how will you drive it with one foot?"  
"Same way I'll kick your behind into next week," Tin growled. The Hunter's lodge was a more modern building than most visitors expected. A lot of glass and steel shaped like the distant-descendant of an ancient longhouse. Tin grumbled about needing his sunglasses just to look at it.  
"You can borrow mine," Qrow said.  
"I'd give them back to you up your nose!" The younger Hunstman laughed again as the buggy shuddered onto blacktop for the last hundred yards of their ride.  
The security staff waiting for them did not salute, per Tin's loud and crabby instructions, but they did give the Huntmaster crisp nods of respect.  
"Welcome back, old man! Lupe Derryo's been missing you," someone shouted from the guardhouse.  
"Well," Tin said as he limped to the checkpoint, "after a while the rock in your shoe becomes a way of life rather than an annoyance." He stopped at the metal detectors and sat himself on the railing. He carefully unhooked his prosthetic leg.  
"Tin, we needed to be inside today," Qrow said as he walked through the one beside his. Tin glared at him and then looked at the security person with a slow shake of his head.  
"You hear how he talks to me? Me! His boss. What other person would put up with this?" He slipped his leg along the conveyor belt and snapped at an approaching guard. "Charlie you come one step closer and you're fired. I'm your boss too." The old Hunter used his arms to propel himself through the metal detector. He nearly lost his balance and Charlie swooped in to grab him.  
"Don't help me!" he snapped.  
"Tin," Qrow said, "let's save some time instead of your pride this morning, huh?" The younger man's dark eyes were soft with worry, in spite of his words. The security staff did not make a fuss or overbear as they helped Tin get his leg back on. The Huntmaster nodded, jaw tight.  
"Fine, Charlie you can stay," he said, "but you're on thin ice!" Laughter broke the tension as the Hunters made their way inside. Charlie called after.  
"You could always skip it, Tin, no one thinks you're trying to bomb your own Lodge." The Huntmaster called over his shoulder as Qrow ushered him through the large, glass doors.  
"With you jokers working here no one would blame me if I did!"

Lupe Derryo sighed and rubbed a spot behind their left ear. It was vulpine, marking them as a Faunus. The Hunter checked their watch and willed Tin Steadfast to appear. They turned as the door to the main hub of the Hunters creaked open.  
"You win no points for being on time, Huntmaster, but-" as they turned and saw the room's new occupant, their face broke into a smile. The girl who'd entered waved her hands for silence and crouched down behind a potted cactus.  
A second later, Tin blustered in complaining to Qrow Branwen.  
"I can still use stairs, damn it, especially if it's two floors." Qrow shot Lupe an eye-roll.  
"Yeah," he said, "but that doesn't mean the elevator is a worse option. Tin, you got nothing to prove to me, I already think you're pathetic." Tin threw his hands out at Lupe Derryo.  
"Can you believe this? This kinda back-chat to the Huntmaster. If Bo Brindle were alive-"  
"We could've started our conference call a long time ago," Lupe interrupted. Tin deflated. Behind him, Qrow caught sight of the hiding girl and covered his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing.  
"Fine," he grumbled, "everyone wants a piece of the old man today, huh?"  
"More people than you think." The girl crept out in three quick steps and covered Tin's eyes from behind.  
"Hey! What's the big-"  
"Guess who!" The girl said with a laugh. Tin's face broke into a grin.  
"Spruce Willis?"  
"Hey, my voice is not that deep!" Tin broke away and turned into a tight hug. Ruby Rose grinned at Lupe over Tin's shoulder.  
"No," the Huntsmaster said, "but damn if you're not getting as tall as him! What you'd grow a foot since I last saw you?"  
"Nope," Ruby snickered impishly, "still got just the two." She wiggled one of her black and red combat-boots for effect.  
"Great," Tin said, "now the whole pack of them are comedians." His face softened and seemed to grow just a few years younger as he looked her over. "How the hell are you, Ruby? What are you doing here? Raven should've left days ago." Tin heard Qrow cough behind him at the mention of his sister.  
"She said we had to wait," the girl shrugged, "but she didn't tell me anything." She rolled her eyes. "As usual."  
"She's got her ways, kiddo, and she sticks to them. Its how us old people are. You'll get that way someday." Ruby made a face.  
"I'll never be as old as you, Tin," she said.  
"Ah, keep that up you won't be any older, young lady, you mark my words. Now, I'd love to chat with you but the Headmasters are waiting to give me a bunch of crap. Go grab a bagel for me and a danish for yourself in the meanwhile. I want to hear all the stories over brunch after these guys have me for breakfast." Ruby grinned. There was a red shimmer and a rush of wind that ruffled the papers in Lupe's hand. Tin goggled at the bagel, everything with cream cheese like he liked it, that was thrust before him.  
"Want to see me do it again?" Ruby asked around a mouthful of apple danish.  
"That's...you...you're fast, kid!" Tin said.  
"Faster than a…" Ruby squinted, "aw, I had something for this!" Tin grinned and took a bite of his bagel.  
"Somethings still need a chance to catch-up I see." Ruby pouted and Tin tried not to choke on his bagel when he laughed.  
"Tin," Lupe said, genuinely wishing they didn't have to interrupt, "we need to go."  
"Don't grow up all the way while I'm gone, Ruby," Tin said, "Qrow, you coming with?"  
"I'll stay with my niece, keep her out of trouble," he said. Tin made a comment about the criminal trying to teach the hoodlum and took another bite of his bagel.  
Inside the main communication hub of the Lodge, a large tv screen was filled with six Hunter school insignias. Tin wondered how much longer that would be the case and braced himself for the barrage.  
"Alright," he said, "I'm here. I've had my vacation so go ahead and throw me a curb party to celebrate my return." Immediately, wavelengths of sound danced under the insignias as everybody scattered jabbering at once.  
"Hunig Geat," he said, eyeing the one caller who hadn't spoken, "how are things in Mistral? The weather's nice this time of year."  
"Temperate," said a clipped, powerful voice, "the new students should like it. Eighty this year." Tin eyed the other images for any sound. The faces of the callers, clear in his minds-eye, were hidden by his own orders. He did not wish this to be an interrogation or sneaky investigation of his colleagues. Lupe did not approve but they deferred to Tin's judgment.  
Can't help but wonder who's sweating and who's smirking, though. He thought.  
"Very good," Tin said, "a nice round number that. Bard Avon, cuz I know you're dying to show-off, go ahead and tell me what you got." The voice that answered was pitch-perfect and seemed to delight in the very act of speaking.  
"First, let commend my stalwart colleague on her own acquisitions," Bard declared, "Huntress Geat, I'm certain you'll mold them into Hunters worthy of song and story."  
"Hmm," Geat replied, "I leave that kind of decision to more free-floating minds." Tin wondered if that was a sneer in her voice or a smile.  
"We do our best," Bard said, practically performing a bow with the words, "and this year our best was quite good. Ninety new apprentices. Every one a virtuoso." The symbol for Shade's school buzzed with a cough.  
"Uruk Lugal, why don't you go next," Tin glanced at Shelter's insignia, "Eabani Clay you go after since I know that's what you want to do anyway."  
"Shade welcomes seventy-five new apprentices to the fold," Uruk declared in a kingly boast of a voice. Tin frowned.  
That's not so bad. Why the coughing?  
"Shelter," Eabani Clay's voice, normally impossible to differentiate from Uruk's stood out today with a little uncertainty, "has fifty new apprentice Hunters." Tin winced and heard Lupe sigh with dejection to his right.  
"I see," Tin said, trying to betray nothing, "well. Together that makes One-hundred-twenty-five so I guess that's an alright number." Shade and Shelter were as closely connected as any Academy could be. Their Headmasters were childhood best-friends who'd never stopped being joined at the hip.  
"Sage Ozpin," York said, "how many colors did you end up having to go through this year? You finally run out and just start numbering the teams like I say you should?"  
There was silence from the Beacon insignia. Tin raised an eyebrow.  
"Ozpin? Hey, Lupe, we got a bad connection or what?" A thousand miles across the continent, Ozpin cleared his throat and took a deep breath.  
"Nine teams," he said, trying to sound strong and added, as if it mattered, "thirty-six new apprentices."  
"Elder brother be good," mumbled Uruk Lugal.  
"Hey," Tin roared, "am I talking to you right now, Hunter? Keep your mouth shut and your comments to yourself." He turned back to the insignia, wishing he'd let them use the camera so Ozpin could see his look. Disappointment was there, unavoidably, but not in the Headmaster.  
"They're good kids," Ozpin said, finding his certainty, "strong and capable. They'll work well together and make up the difference with their teams."  
"I have no doubt, Sage," Tin said, "you keep them busy." There was a long moment of silence before Tin continued. Every Huntsmaster pondered the meaning of such a small number of new students.  
"James Ironwood," Tin Steady said began. Hunig Geat cut in with a razor-sharp comment.  
"General James Ironwood, Tin, he's earned that title after all." Bard Avon gave a small, not-at-all laugh-like, cough.  
"I will hang up on every one of you," Tin growled, "and call you one at a time. So if you are not the person I want to talk to shut your mouths." He shook his head. "Am I talking to the Headmasters of the Academies or their sophomores, here?" He nodded to the Signal insignia and smacked himself a forehead a moment later. "James, go ahead.  
"It's been a good year, Tin, and its nice to chat with you again," James Ironwood was as affable as ever in his tone, "we've got four-hundred new students at Signal this year."  
"May I ask a question?" Geat said.  
"No," Tin snapped. Ironwood chuckled, the wavelength dancing as he did.  
"It's alright, Tin," he said, "well, Geat, three-hundred and fifty are signed on for Hunter-training. At least half will make it to graduation. If not, that forty-percent at worst." James made a little noise of admonition to himself. "Sorry, that's a hundred-sixty, at least."  
"I know," Geat said, her voice nearly the growl of a she-wolf.  
"Great," Tin stepped in, "and well done to all of you. Numbers are not much without four-years of follow-through so don't take too much stock in them. Now. We can move on to general questions and-"  
"Tin," Ozpin said, "there's a question we all have. All of us."  
"Goddamn it," Tin snarled.  
"Tin," Ozpin went on, "is it true that a school has to close?"  
"Yes," Tin Steadfast said, the weight of the truth crushing him into a chair, "yes. One of the schools must close."  
The din was immediate and expected. Tin snatched up the receiver of his phone and put two fingers in his mouth. A few curses came over the wavelengths as he whistled sharply into it.  
"Tin," Hunig Geat growled, "please, don't do that."  
"I am not here to answer questions regarding which schools or why or how the metric is being weighed or any of that. Get me?" Tin glared at the floor. "None of that! That I should have to live to see another school go under is…" he trailed off.  
For a moment his mind was filled with fire. Starlight, first of the Hunter Academies, and his home since he was ten, burned in his memory. And in its glow, all across the Valley of the Scorpion, Hunters killed each other.  
Bo Brindle had knelt over her older brother's corpse, silhouetted by the burning school and hadn't shed a tear. She couldn't. Not for Abram. Not after all that death.  
"... too horrible for words."  
"Tin," Jame said, "I think we're all a little worried. It's...well as you said."  
"I will keep you apprised of this situation as I make my decision," he said, "as I see fit and how I see fit. Not any other way. So don't come slinking to me in your own time trying to get it out of me. Whatever school must close will not do so before the next Vytal Tournament. I want that. I want a last chance for us to come together. Together. As we should."  
A timeline had been set and doubtless, six Headmaster's were calculating every day they had between now and then. Just under two years.  
"Tin, if whole classes of students need to change schools…" Uruk tried to cut in but Tin shouted him down.  
"Goddamn it, we will handle it! As for the students, I better never hear that they caught wind of this before I decided they should know. That will be met with a severe reprimand. Understood?"  
A chorus of affirmatives did nothing to calm him.  
"No political crap," Tin sighed, feeling ever one of his years at once, "no back-stabbing or breaking hearts. It...I swear if you do...it will kill me. I'm tempted to step down right here and right now."  
No one said a word for a moment.  
"Tin," James sighed, "don't be so dramatic."  
"Take a breath," Hunig Geat sighed, "and collect yourself."  
"We'll abide by your decision," Ozpin said, "as always."  
Tin Steadfast laughed bitterly.  
"What else is there? Any other business cuz...I don't know about you kids but I could really use an hour to decompress after this."  
"There's one thing," Hunig Geat said, "I think you should be aware of regarding the selections of the last few days." She was about to go one when Ozpin burst in on her.  
"I'll tell him myself," Ozpin said, "Tin, a Wechuge broke into our selection. The students held their own against it until some of our resident Hunters could step in. That is all." There was a bitter pause. "York reported back to you very quickly, Geat."  
"York?" Tin said, "York Duchy? He was at Beacon for your selection? Why?" His eyes narrowed. "Oh no. No, no, no! This is the kinda stuff that's gonna give me a freaking aneurysm, Huntress Geat! None of this back and forth crap!"  
"York Duchy told me nothing," Hunig Geat said, proud and unbent, "I was going to say that, similarly, we found a few extra Grimm in the Labyrinth. A Manticore to be specific." Tin shuddered.  
"My god," he mumbled, "who took it down? Kleon? Or you?"  
"One of my new students," Geat said, not a drop of arrogance in her voice, "a certain Mistralese warrior. By the name of Pyrrha Nikos."  
"Pyrrah Nikos?" Uruk Lugal said. "My, my. I thought you hated tournament fighters."  
"Well," Headmistress Geat said, "I intend to school her closely in the distinction between entertainment and real battle. She has potential. And a decent spirit."  
"Great, great," Tin said, "but let's leave the girl from the Pumpkin Pete's cereal box aside for a second. A Manticore? And a Wechuge? Buzzard's guts. These things just snuck in? And nobody noticed?"  
"It happened," Ozpin said, in a strangely stilted way, "after we launched our students."  
"The Labyrinth is old," Geat offered, "and not all the old traps have been checked. An oversight on my part, Huntmaster, for which I take full responsibility."  
"I'll hate you for it later, Huntress," Tin said, "for now I gotta know from everybody. Any bugaboos not supposed to be hanging around pop up in your selections? I mean if there was even a Boarbatusk you didn't like the look of I wanna know, right now."  
"Nothing too bizarre," Bard Avon said, "though they did appear...more cunning than usual."  
"Nothing concrete," Uruk said, "but there were signs, found by some of my newer students, that are consistent with the passing of a Conqueror Worm."  
"Uruk is right," Eabani said, "I saw them for myself. It was headed into the Anvil."  
"Get me a report on that," Tin muttered, "Anvil or not...I still want us tracking something that big and nasty. Blind, stupid, and soft but...big'uns like that are priority wherever they crawl. James? Anything?"  
"How," Geat asked, "I assume none of the students had to actually fight Grimm when they showed up."  
"Hunig Geat," Tin snapped, "I take away that goddamn Labyrinth you like so much if you are not very careful."  
"Yes, Huntmaster."  
"A few scattered sightings along the coasts. Those walrus-things with the ridiculous names. Cabbage-Kings?" Tin snickered.  
"Somebody better drag Corduroy Carpenter out of the alehouse and sober him up," he said, "his chickens have come home to roost. Odd to see those things out in any kind of numbers. I figured they went extinct."  
"That reminds me," Geat interjected, "I have a complaint to lodge about Hunter Carpenter's reporting on promising potential students."  
"You said York hadn't told you anything," Ozpin quipped.  
"Sage Ozpin," Tin growled, "I will make you stop using those goddamn color names. And we will discuss whatever that was about potential students another time. Though...I imagine its Cordy being Cordy. Old bastard. And yes, I know the irony of that coming from me. Anybody else got something?"  
"I have several reports here," a voice said from the shadows of the hub, "if you'll listen."  
Raven emerged, leafing through a file of papers.  
"And here I was hoping you'd decided to take a break. Hunters, our sister Raven Branwen has something to add regarding the Grimm. What is it?" Tin steadied himself in his chair.  
"It is my humble opinion that we face a Surge," she said.  
"That's...unlikely," Ozpin said, "but not impossible."  
"Its a Surge," Geat said suddenly, "better to assume it is."  
"With what evidence?" Uruk and Eabani said in unison.  
"Well," Bard Avon offered, "we all did just say the Grimm are acting odd."  
"Grimm always act odd," James Ironwood said, "this is far from the first instance."  
"Greater numbers," Raven said, "greater frequency of attacks, and, everywhere, more reports of old Grimm waking up. This is a Surge, Hunters. The first in eight decades. And when the last one happened…"  
"The Hunters had twice our numbers," Tin groaned, "and far, far more support from the Kingdoms. When it rains it pours."  
"What do we do, Tin?"  
"We go on as Hunters," the Huntsmaster said, "and you prepare your new students for battle. Quickly. Perhaps this is nothing...but if it isn't...the Brothers keep us. Hunters, you are dismissed from this meeting. Hunt well."  
"Hunt well," they replied. The screens went off one by one, leaving Tin Steadfast in near darkness. He sighed and wondered idly what Bo Brindle would've done.  
It doesn't matter now. She's gone, kid, and now you're in charge.  
"Buzzard's guts," he mumbled, "alright, Raven, let's go have brunch with your family. Don't argue, huh? I only want you there to talk business."  
"As you say, Tin."  
"Wow. Not ever gonna fight me on it?" Tin Steadfast shook his head as they left the room. "You really must be serious. Why couldn't I have kicked it in the night, last night? Why don't I ever get that lucky?"  
"The Hunters ain't done with you, Tin," Raven's eyes sparkled, "that's why."

_**Editor Note:**_

_**Hello all, thanks for reading the final chapter to the first arc of HARQ's adventures! We're very glad we got to the end of this story we've been telling for some time and are eager to come back with more adventures for this team, but for now we're taking a temporary hiatus from HARQ until Vol 2 is complete. If you want to know what comes next, I recommend following us as authors so you'll be notified as to when Vol. 2 is released. **_

_**We sincerely hope you've enjoyed reading this story so far and that you stick around for what comes next. Until then!**_


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